


Devil's Water

by Garden_Beast



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cop!Yuuri, Crime, Criminal!Victor, Great Friend!Phichit, Guns, Incognito!Victor, Just for the record y'all, M/M, Mafia AU, Mystery, This is a gritty crime drama version of a gay ice skating anime, Victor is Alexei, Violence, ~Plot twist~
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garden_Beast/pseuds/Garden_Beast
Summary: Retired from the elite Special Assault Team, Yuuri Katsuki is an investigator for the Organized Crime Control bureau in Tokyo's Metropolitan Police Department. A recent uptick in crime has the local yakuza pointing fingers at the Russian mob. Bodies are showing up burnt to a crisp. Guns are being smuggled into Tokyo at a higher rate in recent weeks.All Yuuri wants to do is sit down with his neighbor Alexei (Victor) and have some tea. It's his one escape from work, really, chatting with Alexei about his home in St. Petersburg, hearing about his nephew, Yuri's, antics. These little reprieves keep him sane. Alexei's whole persona is affable, easy to get along with-- his presence is comforting, puts Yuuri at peace.Until it doesn't.





	1. Clouds Rolling In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Masquerade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565544) by [Ashida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida/pseuds/Ashida). 



Celestino took a long drag of his cigarette, staring down at the files on his desk. Yuuri and Phichit looked down at the files, silently taking in the images: four men, all of them beheaded; all of their bodies burnt nearly to ash. “Do you think this is…?”

 

“It’s not typical of the Komatsu-gumi,” Yuuri answered quietly, eyes down on his hands. “They’re more likely to go with the more traditional tacti--”

 

“Not even a new recruit? It could just be some kid off the street trying to prove himself,” Phichit cut in, pulling out a close-up of the beheading. “The autopsy shows that the head was cleaved off with a heavy object. Maybe some sort of butcher’s knife. That doesn’t… We can’t just know by tactics,” Phichit finished off, looking closely at the pictures. There was no way to identify the victims: they were more ashes than human as it was.

 

Celestino nodded, turning to Yuuri. “Notice something?”

 

“Well…” slowly, Yuuri took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. “It’s interesting that the bodies are laid flat like that,” he observed, pointing to the corpse on the right. “A body can’t just-- just…” Shit. He was stuttering. Squeezing his eyes shut, Yuuri breathed, before continuing, “The way it’s burnt means that it was subjected to an extended period of high heat, right? If the perpetrators just poured gasoline on them, they wouldn’t look like this. This is all the way to the bone.”

 

“And?” Celestino nodded in Yuuri’s direction, silently asking for more information.

 

“And the only way a body could get like this is if it were placed in an oven-like structure for a long time.”

 

“So the perp had an oven,” Phichit echoed, clearly unfazed. “A common kitchen appliance? It may be interesting to a pathologist, but--”

 

“I mean-- the perpetrator had an oven big enough to comfortably fit a human b-body, lying down,” Yuuri finished, fingers gripping hard onto the fabric of his trousers. “If it were a normal oven, the body wouldn’t be burnt through. If it were a normal-- kiln, or something, the body would be curled up--”  
  
“A cremation oven,” Celestino and Phichit blurted in tandem, looking at one another. Yuuri only nodded, running a hand through his hair and looking out the window of Celestino’s office. “We can try and talk to a few local mortuaries, come up with a list of suspects, or at least investigate the ovens,” Celestino continued, hand cupping his chin in thought. “Chulanont, find all the mortuaries near the scene of the crime, and--”

“Th-that’s not enough,” Yuuri cut in, cheeks burning. “If you…” God, this was hard. Every day he felt in over his head, his coworkers so far out of his lead that any and every contribution he made to a case felt… Wrong, somehow. He couldn’t-- he-- he felt Phichit’s hand on his own, and heard his voice.

“It’s okay. We’re listening, Yuuri,” he explained quietly, nodding in Yuuri’s direction. Celestino only crossed his arms and waited, clearly put out by Yuuri’s dramatics.

 

Bolstered by Phichit’s confidence in him, Yuuri took a deep breath and continued. “Whoever did this put them out kn-knowing the consequences. They could have just-- cremated them and been done with it, adding the ashes to, to, someone else’s, maybe. They could have hidden them. Cremation takes-- it takes hours to do. They had time to think.”  
  
“They wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave a body out in the open near their place of business,” Celestino finished off, crushing the butt of his cigarette in his ashtray. “Smart.”

 

“So we should check around the rest of Tokyo,” Phichit added, squeezing Yuuri’s hand and smiling in his direction. “That’s helpful.” Yuuri smiled at his friend and former roommate, ignoring the burn in his cheeks. He’d done well. “And interview whoever owns the property these guys were dumped out on. Going by Yuuri’s theory, they weren’t just put there for no reason. It wouldn’t hurt to interview them, see if they might have any connection with the victims.”

 

“I’ll get a list of mortuaries together,” Yuuri offered, looking to Phichit, “If you interview the property owners? I can investigate the mortuaries while you’re at that?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Phichit nodded, turning to Celestino. “And I take it that you’re going to handle the press conference?”

 

Of course Celestino Cialdini was going to handle the press conference; Yuuri almost wanted to laugh at the question-- who else was going to take the credit for Yuuri’s and Phichit’s work? Thankfully, Celestino only nodded and sent them off and out on their respective research.

 

___

 

It would be eight at night when Yuuri finally left his office, stretching as he walked toward the train station to go home and sleep. Forty different mortuaries in Tokyo-- likely hundreds of suspects. Walking through the train station and stepping onto his train (Lucky! It had arrived just when Yuuri stepped in, for once.), Yuuri stood still and watched his fellow passengers. High schoolers coming home from cram school. Businessmen of various states of sobriety, sitting still and looking off into the distance. All of them Japanese. In a way, he was lucky to work in the precinct he did: the Organized Crime Department had Phichit, Celestino, Mickey, Seung-gil, Otabek. It was a diverse little group, for all of Japan’s homogeneity.

 

Yuuri closed his eyes and focused on the rumble of the train. The giggles of the high school girls at the back of the car. The snoring of the clearly inebriated salaryman next to him. On a normal weekday, everything should have been fine. Yuri should have felt comfortable falling asleep as he waited through the long train ride home. His was the last stop, after all. But all he could do was watch the fellow riders from the corners of his eye, waiting for… Oh, he didn’t know anymore. Life for him had become just a cycle of waiting for some horror to come to him and… for nothing to happen. Rinse and repeat. He hadn’t been on the Special Assault Team in over a year, and yet he still clenched his teeth during quiet moments like these and braced himself for the next catastrophe. The next threat. Sighing, Yuuri ran a hand through his hair and prepared himself for a long train ride home.

 

___

 

Nothing came from the mortuaries. Yuuri spent eight straight hours, all business hours, interviewing mortuary owners and investigating their crematoriums. Gathering evidence with an investigative team, sending all of it off to the local lab, playing… Well, a waiting game. All Yuuri could do was ask questions and look for signs of discomfort, for shifting eyes and hands covering mouths, but-- everyone was professional, respectful. Either the perpetrators knew what they were doing, or Yuuri had the wrong lead. “Thank you for your time Mrs. and Mr. Nekozawa!” he called to the last owners of the mortuary, waiting for his investigative team to shuffle out of the crematorium and organize the collected specimens. As team leader, Yuuri stayed behind and bowed, quietly apologizing for taking up the business’s time. Exchanging phone numbers and adamantly requesting any updates were they to note any suspicious activity, Yuuri walked out of the business and into the night, pausing to talk with Yuuko over the evidence.

 

Running a hand through his hair and questioning his own reasoning-- was he wrong about a cremation oven?-- he turned to Yuuko and began, “Somehow I doubt ashes are going to work as DNA specimens.”  
  
Yuuko laughed, zipping up the last duffel bag of evidence and carefully placing it down into the van, “I’m thinking we’re going to compare our samples to those of the bodies, see if there are any similarities. You know, compare the temperatures used, see if there’s anything significant about the temperature used on the victims…* Really, there’s not much to work with. These guys were headless, so we can’t even use dental records for them… Really all we can do is weigh the remains and note the colors.”

 

Yuuri didn’t respond, instead staring for a few moments at the ground. Was this work all by one person…? Or-- “Is there any way that you can ascertain the state of decay of each of the bodies before cremation?” Yuuri asked, crossing his arms. “Or…” he trailed off, well aware that his requests were futile. These were practically ashes they were working with; they may be bones, but…”

 

“They’re more charcoal than anything,” Yuuko nodded, staring up at the doorway of Nekozawa Mortuary with a sigh. “Look. Here’s what I _can_ get you. I can get a rough estimate of weight before they died, as well as (roughly) the heat they were subjected to. I’ll be able to tell if they were put in separate cremation ovens, or…” Yuuko trailed off, going quiet.

 

Whether two or more cremation ovens were used. Whether this was only one oven being used, or… well, if this was premeditated, possibly different occurrences in different timespans. “At the very least we can go through a missing persons list by weight,” Yuuri offered with a weak smile.  
  
“And by gender. We know that these were all men,” Yuuko added, “What with-- the bone structure--”

 

“Of course,” Yuuri agreed. “Hey-- once this is in the lab, take a rest. Spend some time with Takeshi and the kids.”

 

Yuuko smiled, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Come over for dinner sometime, will you?” she offered quietly, “The girls like you.”  
  
“Sure,” Yuuri promised, lying through his teeth. They both knew the likelihood of him following through. He was on a case, after all. “Get some rest, Yuuko.”

 

“You too, boss.” She smiled, stepping into the van as one of her underlings started the ignition. “I mean it, Yuuri! Take care of yourself!” she shouted, before finally properly shutting the door. Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, watching the van ride off into traffic before finally walking off to his train station, staring up at the lights and advertisements propped up around him. Everywhere he looked, there was some group going out-- salary men shouting and singing, groups of young women walking to some club or other. Yuuri smiled; it was a Friday night, after all. Perfect timing for any civilian to go out and have fun.

 

It was during moments like these when Yuuri wondered what Alexei was up to.

 

___

 

The train ride was long. The walk home was long, made even longer by the light on ground floor. The apartment just below him-- Yuuri began to sprint to his building, hurriedly pressing the keycode to get inside. He took the elevator up to the third floor, tapping his foot all the while. Didn’t Alexei have work in St. Petersburg? Or was he back already? Yuuri didn’t know-- but he could hope. Alexei, slender and gorgeous with a personality far too big for his tiny apartment, hair silver like the moon-- Yuuri could only hope he was back in Japan when he sped out of the elevator, knocking on door 367; there was light coming from under the crack of the door, that was a good sign. Or maybe he’d just moved out? It wouldn’t be terribly surprising, really-- a realtor and investor with his income would hardly enjoy living in an apartment complex like this. Maybe it was dumb of him to come over, grinning like a puppy when-- “Yuuri!” He felt his shoulders gripped in a bear hug and couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re back?” Yuuri asked, pushing Alexei back with a transparent pout and looking up at him. Those eyes of his, that smile-- Yuuri couldn’t keep up the charade of a pout, and gave in with a smile.

 

“I only just got back! Besides, the cell service where I was-- just terrible!” He sighed, running a hand through his hair before taking Yuuri’s hand and dragging him into his apartment. “By the way, I got a great piroshki recipe from my nephew’s grandpa-- you know the one, Yur-- that is, Dennis?”

 

“Yeah! He let you in on the family secret?” Yuuri joked, smelling something… Well, greasy, but _good_. “Is that what’s cooking in here?”

 

“How’d you guess?” Alexei asked, beckoning Yuuri over to a great pot. “Don’t lean in too close, but they’re almost done! I just need to…” Concentrating, Alexei picked up a pair of tongs and plucked several piroshki from the grease, before turning down the heat. “Let’s just wait for these to cool off first-- anyway, how are you?”  

 

“Good!” Yuuri gushed, regardless of how his day was before. When he was with Alexei, he was… Well, he was in a better mood. He looked around Alexei’s apartment with a smile, noting just how clean it always was. How did he manage that, spending so much time away?

 

“Just good? Nothing else to talk about?” Alexei prodded, grabbing two piroshkis and plating them, leading Yuuri to his couch. “I’ve been gone three weeks! You could have a girlfriend by now,” Alexei joked. Yuuri ignored the burn in his cheeks, laughing along.

 

“Well… I’m sort of leading an investigation at work. With Phichit? You know, the one I--”

 

“Yeah, your best friend! What’s the investigation entail?” The Russian asked, biting down on a piroshki, before spitting out his bite and recoiling. “Too hot!”

 

“Are you okay?!” Yuuri asked, halfway ready to get a glass of water, when Alexei waved to him to sit down. Oh. Well. “Um… There’s not much available to the public,” he explained quietly, “There’s recently been a string of murders that we think might be gang-related, so our department’s looking into it…”  
  
“And you got a leading position!” Alexei shouted, taking Yuuri’s hand, “Fantastic, fabulous!”

 

Yuuri grinned, rubbing the back of his head. Everything was ‘fabulous’ to Alexei. “Yeah! Um…” He loved moments like these. When Yuuri couldn’t think of what to say next, Alexei only took a bite of his food and encouraged Yuuri to try. “Yeah! Of course.” Taking a bite, he found it to be… delicious. “Mm,” he hummed, smiling, before licking a few crumbs from his face-- “Tell Dennis’s grandpa it’s good!”

 

“Absolutely,” Alexei replied, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch and leaning on his hand, “I’ve missed it here. It’s starting to feel more like home than St. Petersburg,” he admitted quietly, rubbing his thumb along the suede of the couch.

 

Ah-- Yuuri didn’t know what to say. He just stared down at his food (likely his dinner) and ignored the heat in his cheeks. “I, um.” He cleared his throat, “I like having you here, too.” Oh, god. Was that too much? He glanced at Alexei, hearing something rustle.

 

He was leaning in awfully close. “I like being here with you, myself.”

 

Oh. Um. “Y-yes?”

 

“Yes,” Alexei answered quietly, taking a bite of his piroshki and smiling with greased lips, “Besides, I want to see more of you. If that’s… Alright? I’m going to be here in Tokyo for awhile, after all…”

 

Externally, Yuuri stared down at his piroshki and smiled, cheeks beet red. Internally, he was screaming. “Definitely,” Yuuri answered, setting down his snack and turning to Alexei, eyes wide, “That sounds-- yes!” Alexei was so charming, so sweet-- every time Yuuri walked out of his apartment and back home to his own, he couldn’t help but smile; and now he was staying? Semi-permanently? If Yuuri nearly bounced on the couch, hurriedly making plans-- to visit the Shinagawa Aquarium, to eat at his favorite cafes, to introduce him to Phichit and have a fun day at an amusement park-- well, he couldn’t help himself.

 

“Besides, I wanted to get to know Tokyo better,” he admitted, smiling at Yuuri with those blue eyes that he could _fall_ into… “How about we go somewhere this weekend?”

 

___

 

Cloud nine had never felt so nice. Yuuri grinned as he typed up his report for Celestino; he gushed to Phichit about his mysterious neighbor, earning himself a pat on the back and a selfie with his best friend, even managing a grin for Instagram; he didn’t even mind when Phichit captioned it “Tfw your bff is gonna get laid!!” It wasn’t as if Alexei would see, anyway.

 

He was in too good of a mood by far when he walked into a meeting co-presented by the Security, Community Safety, and Criminal Investigation bureaus.

 

Really, all they needed to do was present the data and statistics. Instead, they scared Yuuri’s department shitless.

 

“Three unrelated rifle homicides,” Celestino echoed quietly, running a hand through his hair. Yuuri sat utterly still, staring at the uptick in the graph on the projector. “Clearly the Komatsu-gumi is--”

 

With an apologetic look in their direction, Minami pulled out the evidence bag holding the gun. His eyes flicked to Yuuri when he explained, “It’s Chinese made. We checked the manufacturer details.”

 

The room went quiet. Yuuri put his head in his hands. Phichit piped up, “So either the Kodo-kai’s made an agreement with the Triad, or…?”

 

Shit. “Or, the Triad’s trying to break into the Japanese market,” Yuuri sighed, running a hand through his hair. They were either dealing with a newly reorganized Kodo-kai, or an international trade market…

 

“Ad to that the recent uptick in drug overdoses and possession arrests,” Takeshi added in, pressing a button and showing the next slide, showing… Yet another graphical uptick. Yuuri raised his head only long enough to look at the information. Shit.

 

“This can’t just be endemic to Tokyo,” Celestino pointed out, crossing his arms. “This is an international issue-- we need to have a national campaign against this. PSAs, advertisements, tightening up regulations on imports…” Yuuri stared at his overlapped hands, doing his damnedest to avoid looking at Phichit; if he did, they’d both laugh at Celestino’s blatant attempts to try and advise the Prime Minister on international trade.

 

“Yes, well. I’m sure the Superintendent General will pass the information along,” Guang Hong answered, packing up the evidence. “What we need to do now is collaborate with administration to set up some sort of preventative measures. We’ll update you guys once we have some plans set in place,” Guang Hong finished, readying himself for the return to his office. Finished with the meeting, then, Yuuri stood to leave while Phichit socialized with the other members of the police force-- for now, Yuuri had to scour through missing persons records.

 

Three hours and two cups of coffee later, Yuuri had thirty potentials victims: six for the 100 kilogram man; fourteen for the 50 kilogram man; seven for the 75 kilogram man and three for the 125 kilogram man.

 

Within this pool of potential victims, four missing men with criminal backgrounds relating them to the kodo-kai fit the bill. One for each victim, respectively. Yuuri sat back in his seat and prepared himself to make some phone calls.

 


	2. Balancing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri does his best to balance civilian and work life, but he can only walk the razor's edge for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so, SO happy that you guys like this!! I'm really enjoying writing this, and every single time I see a comment or a kudo, I just... Words can't even convey how I feel! This is the last chapter of exposition and mystery-solving; the next one is where the pace speeds up a bit! Thank you all for reading!
> 
> <3

It was a beautiful winter day. Idyllic. Perfect weather (just cold enough for Yuuri to see his breath, but not too much to want to stay inside all day). Perfect surroundings. A perfect date, if it was one. Alexei took selfies galore-- with the roller coasters, with the ferris wheel, with the mascots. Yuuri laughed his way along, smiling awkwardly in pictures and chatting over popcorn; sitting on a wooden bench and listening to Alexei rattle on about his home, about his dog. It was during moments like these, Yuuri could almost imagine himself leading a normal life. No murders, no weeping friends and family hearing that their sons, their brothers may have been found. No nightmares about getting shot in Roppongi; no waking up in the middle of the night to clutch at his leg. Just, this. He could play this game of normal life for awhile. The company of another person, inviting and friendly and showing him pictures of his poodle-- his  _ poodle _ ? 

 

“You’re kidding! I had a poodle back when I was growing up!” Yuuri gushed, grabbing Alexei’s phone from his hands and taking a closer look, smiling at those big brown eyes. “What a cutie! Is she… What, cafe au lait?” 

 

“She is! She’s getting a little old, but let me tell you-- she can run farther than I can. She’s the most athletic little baby, I’m half sure she’ll live forever.”  _ Live forever _ . Yuuri looked down at his hands. Vicchan had done his best, at least, even in his last days. His mother had quietly injected a saline drip into his back, three times per day for… God, sixteen months? Even when his kidneys had failed, he still galloped around and nipped at Yuuri’s ankles, happy and bouncy and cheerful until the very end. “Oh,” Alexei whispered softly, as if realizing something. Oh, god. Had Yuuri stopped listening? Shit.  _ Shit _ . He was supposed to be in the moment today, take Phichit’s advice and enjoy himself. 

 

“Oh! Sorry, haha, I just, um. Sorry, I was thinking about Vicchan.” 

 

“Your dog?” Alexei guessed, right on the money.    
  


“Yeah-- I’d named him after, um.” Yuuri rubbed at the back of his neck, eyeing passersby as he explained, “There was this actor, uh, Victor Jory, in the early sixties. He had this crime drama called  _ Manhunt _ , and my grandfather got me into it, and, um.” How was he supposed to explain that his first celebrity crush had been some American who had died before he’d even been born? That he’d only developed a crush when he’d looked up his outright ancient filmography and saw him in cheesy old romances? “And I was, um.” A fan? An obsessive? 

 

Alexei snorted a laugh, before outright guffawing, throwing his head back. Yuuri went red in the face, shame gripping him like a vise. “You had a dog named Victor! That’s such a serious name!” he laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “That’s really adorable, you know that?” ...Adorable? Yuuri shimmied in his seat on the bench, somewhere between flattered and patronized. “I mean I like it. It’s a good name, Victor,” Alexei continued, taking a kernel of popcorn and popping it into his mouth. How was it that even eating popcorn could be elegant, when Alexei was the one doing it? 

 

“Vicchan was a good dog,” Yuuri agreed quietly, thinking of the little shrine he’d set up for him upstairs in his own apartment. It had only been a year or so, but… Vicchan was family. Had been family. 

 

“He’d be proud of you getting that leadership position in your case,” Alexei chimed in, smiling. 

 

All Yuuri could do was punch him softly in the arm and laugh. “I don’t think he understood the concept of dynamic hierarchy, let alone crime.” 

 

“No? Makka knows when people are lying to her,” Alexei chimed in, finger pointing at Yuuri’s chest as if in a challenge. 

 

Really? “Really?” That was incredible! What a brilliant dog! 

 

“Of course not!” Alexei laughed, propping his head up on his hand and smiling, “But I’m glad to know you’re gullible, Mister Investigator.” 

 

Wha-- Yuuri sat still, open-mouthed. Had he been tricked? “Alexei!” 

 

“Come on-- let’s go to the ferris wheel!” Alexei shouted, propelling up and dragging Yuuri along with him, grabbing at Yuuri’s wrist. On one hand, Alexei was pushy, always forcing Yuuri to go along at his pace. But on the other… When was the last time Yuuri had done something fun? Most weekends he spent reading, pouring through paperwork, doing errands. This was a new change of pace, and maybe-- Yuuri laughed as Alexei whined at the length of the line to the ferris wheel-- maybe Alexei’s pace was just what Yuuri needed. 

 

Besides, the line was only thirty minutes long, anyway. Yuuri didn’t mind waiting, especially when Alexei pulled him close and wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. Smiled down at him as if two men standing this close was the most natural thing in the world. Yuuri could almost feel the warmth of him from underneath his coat-- at least, he thought he could. Looking up, Yuuri could see the cold biting at Alexei’s ears, his cheeks. He was so handsome, like this. In any way, he was handsome, but-- especially up close, with the winter weather painting his nose and cheeks and ears the most delightful rosy color-- “Next!” the ferris wheel operator called, jolting Yuuri out of his own head. Alexei took Yuuri’s hand and stepped forward, before stopping at their pod and gesturing for Yuuri to step in first. Always a gentleman. Yuuri couldn’t help but oblige, biting back a blush. 

 

Even as the ferris wheel began to just lift them off the ground, Yuuri squirmed in his seat. Alone with Alexei-- not just in his apartment, but on the most romantic ride in the whole park! It was fine if the Russian didn’t think anything of it, of course-- Yuuri could nurse his little… crush on his own. He was sure it wouldn’t work out-- these things never did for him, of course-- but it was nice to just be here, in his company, looking at him as he watched the Tokyo skyline crop up around them. “So pretty!” Alexei called, grinning in Yuuri’s direction. 

 

Oh. Was he caught? “Y-yes-- very,” he nodded quickly, wondering what the view would be like at night-- it would be so romantic, looking at the skyline as it glittered like the night sky. But, he supposed, he wouldn’t be able to see Alexei’s face, as bright and happy as it was. 

 

And the view  _ was  _ nice. The blue sky, Tokyo Tower piercing into the sky, along with so many other skyscrapers, all of them holding some sign of life. Sure, it was a weekend-- office buildings were mostly empty-- but the principle was the same. This was nice. Normal. “Yuuri,” Alexei called, voice soft. Yuuri loved how he said his name, as if he were singing it. 

 

“Hm?”    
  


“I really have enjoyed my time here, you know. You’ve made Tokyo so much more fun. Every time I’m here it’s on business, but with you…” Leaning forward and reaching across the pod, Alexei took Yuuri’s hand in his own. “I’d love for you to come with me to St. Petersburg sometime. I could show you around, we could go to the Hermitage Museum, the Peter and Paul Fortress-- restaurants, cafes. Anywhere you’d want to go.”    
  
Was Yuuri dreaming? Was this actually happening? “Wh-- Really?” Yuuri asked, somehow sure that Alexei would recoil and laugh at him. He’d made the same mistake mistake earlier, after all.

 

But Alexei’s eyes were soft, and he was smiling, and he was leaning in excitedly and continuing on, and Yuuri hadn’t felt this sort of elation in  _ years _ \-- “Yeah. You could take a week off sometime, fly over. We could have so much  _ fun _ together--” 

 

But the fantasy had to fall apart, as it always did. Yuuri’s phone went off in the familiar jingle of Phichit’s ringtone, and immediately he knew that it was work. Phichit never called otherwise, especially if Yuuri was on a-- an outing. “L-let me get this real quick,” he stuttered, pulling out his phone and turning away as he answered the call, “What is it?” 

 

“Yuuri! Thank god you picked up,” Phichit sighed, voice tinny and grainy at this altitude. “We’ve got a confession. Well-- we’ve got a leading member of the Komatsu-gumi in here to talk with us.” 

 

Yuuri paused, absolutely thunderstruck. Had they made some sort of arrest? He would have known about it-- he was a member of the Organized Crime Control bureau, after all-- “How…?” 

 

“Long story short, he’s here of his own volition,” Phichit explained, as Celestino called for him in the background. 

 

“No,” Yuuri called back, before mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to his… friend, “That doesn’t happen. The Kodo-kai doesn’t work with us--  _ ever _ *.”

 

“Needs must, babe,” Phichit answered-- Yuuri could hear Celestino yelling something again-- “Just get over here quick.” 

 

___

 

At least Phichit was apologetic; Celestino just fiddled with his phone while staring intermittently at the suspect. “Hey,” he began, offering Yuuri coffee in front of a two-way mirror. It was the underground interrogation room, and Yuuri couldn’t help but look around at the slate gray walls, the recording devices, the cameras. He had only been down in this area once or twice before to help Minami and the rest of the team from Criminal Investigation confirm a member of a local gang. “Sorry about the timing. It just--”    
  
“Don’t be sorry. It’s fine,” he smiled, albeit exhausted, accepting the cup and taking a sip, watching as Minami’s smiling face trailed off about… Some sort of drugs bust? The suspect stayed silent, glaring at Minami before looking down at his hands. He remained quiet, looking… Well, like how Yuuri had imagined a high-up member of the Kodo-kai to look: slick suit and tie, slicked back hair, eyes like the blackest of oil-- everything about him was dangerous. Yuuri could see it on his face, in his eyes, in the way he held himself. How could Minami just smile and chat with him like this? 

 

“Was it going well, at least?” Phichit asked, jolting Yuuri out of his observation. “Sorry, bad timing. Just-- tell me after this, okay?” 

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri nodded, turning back to the two-way mirror and watching as the suspect continued to stare at his hands as if in thought. “It-- it went well,” he added, eyes on the suspect. 

 

Phichit knew when fun was over and work began. Instead of yelling, begging for more details, or leaping for joy, he simply took Yuuri’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. 

 

Grainy from the recording device, Yuuri finally heard the suspect speak, looking back at Minami and sitting back. “So when am I going to talk to the guys who deal with the mob?” 

 

Minami was quick to recover from his surprise. “Trust me, they’re here and listening. Just start with me for n--” 

 

“This is above your paygrade, kid,” the suspect interrupted, crossing his arms. “I’m not here to talk drugs busts and bullshit, I’m here to give you answers. Now if you could direct me to someone who can differentiate piss from shit, that’d be great.” He looked away while the blood left Minami’s face. 

 

“...Right. I’ll go do that now,” Minami answered quietly, standing up and walking stiltedly toward the door. The suspect only huffed a laugh, well aware that he’d won his little game. All Yuuri could do was grit his teeth and wait for Minami to come into the observation room,  _ vibrating  _ with anger. Yuuri had never seen him quite this shaken up. “That  _ asshole _ ,” he gritted out, jerking his head at Celestino to take his place. “Fucking dick.” 

 

“He wouldn’t be in crime if he wasn’t,” Yuuri smiled, placing a calming hand on Minami’s shoulder and watching him go quiet. Watched him look down at his shoes, face red. 

 

“Good point,” he answered quietly, sighing and covering his eyes. “He shouldn’t have gotten to me like that.” 

 

“It happens sometimes. It’s okay, Minami,” Phichit cut in, wrapping one arm around Minami and watching as Celestino walked in, characteristic interrogation smirk at the ready. 

  
“Better,” the suspect sniped, finally leaning forward and looking Celestino in the eye. “I take it you’re Organized Crime Control?”    
  
“Correct.” Celestino pulled out his chair and sat down, getting himself comfortable-- a common tactic. Using silence to make the suspect uncomfortable, let  _ them _ start off. 

 

Clearly it didn’t work. The suspect-- “His name’s Seyama Tohru,” Minami added helpfully, glaring at the suspect through the two-way mirror-- just smiled, shaking his head softly and watching Celestino. 

 

“You came here of your own volition,” the head investigator began, giving the admission of starting first. Phichit and Yuuri looked at one another with a smile-- that had to be a blow to his ego. “And we’re listening. We’re listening to your point of view as an innocent civilian and nothing else.” 

 

There was a tense silence, before Seyama took a deep breath and explained, “This recent uptick in sales I’m sure you’ve heard about isn’t us,” he began, looking-- almost guilty, somehow. 

 

“No shit.” 

 

Seyama raised a brow before breaking out into a grin. “You guys aren’t that bad off, huh?” he asked, running a thumb over his lip. 

 

“On the contrary-- we would love to hear about what you’ve found in your own circles,” Celestino answered, the atmosphere around the two growing somehow friendly. 

 

“He’s in his element,” Yuuri explained to Minami, who looked crestfallen at his own incapability. 

 

Back in the interrogation room, Seyama finally opened his mouth. “The Russian mob’s been… active here in Japan,” he began, “Selling Chinese guns; selling Russian-made drugs and drug paraphernalia; a lot of over-the-counter shit from other countries that’s illegal here**, selling it off to kids who’re starting to dabble in chemistry.” He ran a hand through his hair, crossing and uncrossing his legs, “Not to mention killing four of our boys. The charcoal heaps you guys found were meant as a warning for us…” he paused, actually  _ shaken _ . It was the first time in Yuuri’s life that he’d come across a member of the Kodo-kai looking anything less than confident. “What I’m saying is, the Kodo-kai isn’t a part of this. They want this little issue dealt with as much as you do.” 

 

_ The Russian Mob _ . Yuuri went quiet, thinking: didn’t the mob have enough of a market over in China and the Middle East? Why bother with trying to get into the comparatively small island of Japan?

 

“Not for the same reasons, of course,” Celestino smiled, fishing through his pockets and pulling out a carton of cigarettes. “Want one?” 

 

“Gladly, thank you,” Seyama nodded, plucking a cigarette out of Celestino’s hand and holding it between two fingers for a light. “Now, I can give you a few leads-- a few people buying and selling Russian shit around town. So,” cigarette lit, he took a long drag before continuing, blowing smoke into Celestino’s face, “There are a few boys over in Harajuku you might want to talk to. Can I some paper, a pencil? Just so we can have all this figured out…” 

 

As soon as Celestino produced a paper and a pen, Seyama got to work: writing names and addresses, detailing where deals went down. “And this doesn’t implicate me, are we clear? I’m just a concerned citizen. I want that on record.” 

 

“We already signed for you, don’t you worry. You’re just an observant civilian,” the lead investigator smiled, finally pulling back his pad of paper and giving it a once-over. “And you’re not going to inform anyone that you’ve given us this information? It’s just between you and us, right?”    
  
“Correct. We’re after the same thing, here.” 

 

Celestino’s smile clashed with the narrowing of his eyes. “Naturally.” He stood and turned to the door, walking right out and into the observation room. “Escort him out for me, Phichit? And Yuuri, you follow me.” 

 

Both did as they were told. Phichit surely ended up in the lobby, thanking Seyama for his time, and Yuuri ended up in Celestino’s office with a pad of paper and an order to make himself look more like a member of the yakuza and less like, well, himself.    
  
“I’m sorry?” Yuuri asked, narrowing his eyes and staring down at his outfit. He was wearing a sweater and jeans, not--

 

Celestino lifted a hand to stop Yuuri right then and there. “Have you ever gone undercover?”

 

___

The answer was no. No, Yuuri had not gone to Akasaka dressed in leather with his hair slicked back in order to try and purchase guns from a rebel offshoot of the Kodo-kai. But it looked like that was what he was up to, as he, Phichit, and Celestino sat in their innocuous white van; as  Phichit pinned the third unnecessary microphone inside his shirt. “Three?” Yuuri whispered quietly, before hunching away as Phichit’s finger brushed his nipple. 

 

“Just in case one of the other two stops working. Don’t worry,” Celestino chided softly, landing a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “You’ve done harder things than this. This is just talking to some guy and getting evidence, okay? We’ve got backup all around to have him arrested.” Oh. Yuuri didn’t know what to say-- this was the first time Celestino was being so, well. Nice. He wasn’t a bad person, but… 

 

“Thank you,” Yuuri nodded, cracking his neck and stepping out of the van. He knew where to go (the alleyway two blocks away) and what to ask for (Norinko Tokarev type 54). He was fine. He was  _ fine _ . 

“You’ve got this, Yuuri.” It was Phichit’s turn to place his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, and-- 

 

And that was about enough coddling for Yuuri today. “Okay, okay. I’m headed out, alright? You two-- just-- keep an eye out.” 

 

“They grow up so fast,” Celestino joked, pretending to tear up as Yuuri stepped out of the car and out into the street. 

 

Yuuri rolled his neck and did his damnedest to project the image of a self-confident man walking to an illegal weapons dealer. He pulled his shoulders back and stuffed his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket Phichit had leant him, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. He was fine. He could ignore the glances his way, people stepping aside and giving him a wide berth as he glared down the street and walked to his destination. 

 

This was… Interesting. On one hand-- anyone actually purchasing a weapon wouldn’t want to be noticeable. It would be much better to just blend into the background, wearing jeans that  _ weren’t _ ripped at the knees. But on the other… People looked his way. Yuuri had never actually garnered attention before-- with exception of the stripping at his and Phichit’s graduation party, but that was a one-time thing. This was in public, walking down a street. He wasn’t doing anything special, just glaring into the distance and making turns when he had to. This was… Well, this was new. Almost invigorating. Yuuri couldn’t help but stand straighter, sneakers slapping the pavement with a new determination. 

 

When he reached the rendezvous point, already populated with a small circle of young men, he only tipped his head back and stated, “I’m looking for a Tokaji?” with a confidence he had never known. He only leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway and looked around at the garbage left around. Plastic bags here and there, a few cigarette butts-- looked like these kids were litterers. 

 

“Did you bring the cash?” the teen in the center asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets and smirking in his direction. A clear power play. Almost as if playing a role, Yuuri raised one brow and smirked right back; he wasn’t going to pull his card before Tokaji could prove he had what Yuuri wanted. 

 

“Did you bring the gun?” The thirty thousand-yen bills were tucked safely away in his jacket pocket, but Yuuri hardly wanted to be mugged first-thing. The boy in the middle pulled out-- yes, that was in fact a firearm. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Yuuri added, wrapping his hand around the barrel of the gun, slipping his hand into his jacket-- 

 

Everyone in the alleyway went still, as if expecting an altercation; Tokaji bared his teeth, pants-shittingly terrified; the boys and girls huddled in a circle around him were frozen still, waiting for Yuuri to make another move. 

 

He pulled out the cash with a smile, tossing it Tokaji’s way as he pulled the gun out of his hands. Felt the cold of the metal again. The familiar weight of a loaded gun. He knew this. He knew what it was capable of, sitting still and cold in his hands-- capable of being hot, capable of spilling blood all along the streets of Roppongi, capable of leaving him gasping, clinging to his leg as he bled out. The cold of his skin like the cold of the metal of a gun.

 

“...Hey?” A kid asked, stepping forward, looking… Almost concerned. “You okay, there?” 

 

Yuuri’s left leg felt weak, as if he were back in physical therapy and still struggling to walk. He took a few deep breaths, trying to force his knees to stop trembling. His hand to stop shaking. His breath to even out. “Y-yeah,” he forced out, shoving the gun (safety on) into his jacket and ducking his head to walk away. 

 

He had been over this. He had been doing so well-- doing work again, helping on cases, leading  _ investigations _ . What was this? What was happening to him? He was slipping, slipping back into old habits, into the weak and trembling body he’d outgrown months ago. He couldn’t keep his thoughts together, walking the two blocks to the car. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t look anyone in the eye. He could barely pay attention to where he was going, exhaustion tugging at him, panic tugging at him-- all these different feelings pulling him taut. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He could feel his pulse in his left thigh, almost feel the blood seeping through his pants and onto the ground, leaving him cold, leaving his heart hammering in his chest, other officers running around him like worker bees trying to get an ambulance, trying to staunch the bleeding, telling Yuuri to  _ breathe _ , to  _ calm down _ , to  _ stay still _ . He could remember the lights of Roppongi smearing in his vision, stuttering, interrupted by bouts of blackness; he could remember his squadron leader Minako looking him in the eyes, cupping his face in her hands, shouting words he couldn’t discern or understand-- he could remember the cramped room of the ambulance.  

 

Slowly, he walked back to the van, and slowly he stepped back in to see the smiling faces of Celestino and Phichit. He was sure they were talking, but nothing registered. All he could do was set the gun down onto a seat and watch as his coworkers’ expressions changed from joy to concern; all he could do was look down at his hands as his vision swam, and tell himself that he was fine. There was no blood. He wasn’t bleeding out again. He had just… Held a gun. He had done it tons of times before, even in the last year. He was fine. He was  _ fine _ . 

 

He was down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *http://www.kinyobi.co.jp/backnum/antenna/antenna_kiji.php?no=1632 (Google translated this for me, so it may not be perfect!)
> 
> **http://www.kansaigaidai.ac.jp/asp/pdf/current_students/01_student_handbook/Drug_Laws_In_Japan.pdf


	3. It All Falls Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better. And then worse.

Phichit was entirely too good on days like these. Yuuri leaned back in his ancient hatchback car, listening to it creak as the car rolled to a stop. “Sorry about this piece of shit,” Phichit laughed, slamming _hard_ on the brakes. They didn’t even jolt forward-- it was more of a slow stop. Yuuri huffed a laugh, staring up at the ceiling of the car.  


“I don’t mind, Phi, really. Thanks for the ride home.” Neither of them needed to mention Yuuri’s little episode-- he was already exhausted enough as it was.

 

“Like I’d let you go home alone as you are now?” Phi smiled, placing a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder at the stoplight, and Yuuri could already _tell_ what was coming.  


“I’m fine, Phichit.”  


His friend didn’t let go. “I know. I just… It was wrong of us to ask that of you. Putting a gun back in your hands--”

 

And that was about when Yuuri had to step in. “Drop it, Phi.” The ensuing silence very nearly made him wince, but-- not tonight. Not after his godawful day.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Yuuri just leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He’d be home soon.

 

And, excluding the good half-hour it took for Phichit to get to Yuuri’s neighborhood, the drive didn’t take too long-- Phichit was quiet, the lights of Tokyo blurred together, and the shaky rumble of the engine was almost like a lullaby; he was tired after today. So tired. These panic attacks sucked the energy out of him-- left him more than ready to just close his eyes, tip his head back, and…

 

“Yuuri,” Phichit hummed, taking Yuuri’s hand and lifting it-- “It’s time to get up now. We’re at yours, okay? Let’s get inside and get you to bed.”

 

Well, shit-- he hadn’t fallen asleep during a car ride in years. “Yeah,” he answered quickly, rubbing his eyes and stepping out of the car, checking his pockets for his phone and wallet. “‘Kay.”

 

Phichit rounded the car and took Yuuri’s hand, carefully walking him to the building, eyes on him as if he were glass ready to shatter. On some level he hated this-- feeling as if he were weak, as if he were still in physio, struggling to stand and walk and move his leg. Still-- he glanced Phi’s way, noted the patient smile on his old friend’s face, and dipped his head onto Phichit’s shoulder.

 

“It’s awfully hard to walk like this,” Phichit’s voice rumbled, a physical tremor against Yuuri’s ear. He could hear the amusement in it.

 

“Try getting shot in the leg,” he shot back, welcoming the steady hand around his waist.

 

“Mm, rather not, thanks,” Phichit smiled, walking into the building and giving a quick smile to some neighbor or other, when said neighbor beelined straight for them and ran his hands through Yuuri’s hair.

 

It took a few seconds for Yuuri to register that it was Alexei, looking-- worried? “What happened to you? Are you okay? Did something happen at work?”

 

Oh god. This was-- he was cuddling up to Phichit while standing, and he couldn’t imagine what kind of message was getting through to Alexei. “N-no, I’m fine-- I just, um.”  
  
“There was a minor incident,” Phichit cut in, squeezing Yuuri’s side and grinning down at him-- any trace of seriousness that might have affected his demeanor was gone, now, and back was the sparkle in his eyes that meant nothing but trouble. “He had a bit of a tumble, so he just needs to get home, rest and recuperate, all that…”

 

This didn’t seem to assuage Alexei in the least; instead, he followed Yuuri and Phichit into the elevator, making a u-turn from… Whatever it was he was about to do. “I’m sure. Can I help? I’ve got food in the fridge, I can probably whip up some dinner,” he offered, slipping his hand behind Yuuri’s back and rubbing his thumb along the ridge of his spine.  


That was one hell of a way to wake up from a post-nap haze, he decided, standing up straight and wringing his hands together. “I-It wasn’t much, Alexei, I’m sure it--”

 

“How about tomorrow? Dinner?” Phichit offered, cutting in and giving another quick squeeze to Yuuri’s side. It was all a little overwhelming, both hands on him. Like he was a rope in the middle of a tug-o-war. “He’s just tired tonight, I figure I should get him to bed…”  
  
Something in Alexei’s face changed. He saddled up to Yuuri’s side, snaking his arm between Phichit and Yuuri, as if trying to pry them apart. No-- that had to be in Yuuri’s head. “Right, of course,” Alexei replied, shifting his weight and pulling Yuuri against his chest, and-- Yuuri turned back to Phi, eyes wide. Alexei continued despite the newfound tension, “I’ll do that, I don’t mind-- besides, it’s getting late, and I’m sure you’ve already done so much…”

 

Phi mirrored the expression--utter, complete shock-- with a smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, um. I’ll just pop up and make sure everything’s okay,” he insisted, waiting out the elevator ride and finally following them out. “You know, since we’re _old friends_ and all, I just want to know that he’s set for the night. Right buddy?”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri agreed, whipping his head to look between his neighbor and best friend. What was _this_ about? There was an odd tension in the claustrophobic space of the hallway, and there was simply no escaping it. “But hurry, okay? It’s been a long day.” He fished through his pockets and unlocked his door, stepping in and shrugging off his coat, leaving it on the dining room chair-- distantly, he heard Phi and Alexei ooh and ahh throughout the foyer, being in Yuuri’s apartment a first for them both. Rather than bothering with his suit, he beelined to his bedroom and collapsed right there onto his mattress, taking a deep breath. Ahh, it was good to be home, even with the cavalry behind him still making introductions in the foyer.

 

Any other time and he’d try to help introduce his friend to his neighbor, explain how they’d met, what they both liked…  but tonight all he could do was sink into his bed and listen idly to the chatter filtering in through the doorway.  


“So you must be Alexei?” Phichit’s muffled voice asked, as he undoubtedly made the introductions, “I’m Phichit-- we work together and actually went to uni--”

 

“Oh, _Phichit_! He’s told me about you-- god, sorry for interrupting,” Alexei cut himself off, before continuing, “He’s told me about you; you two used to live together, too?”

 

A short pause, and then-- “Haha, yeah-- god, that was ages ago, though. I’m on the other side of town now, though, so it’s always been hard to get together after work…”  
  
“Ahh, understood,” Alexei commiserated, “Even if it’s just across town, it’s always hard to get together and talk…” There was a longer silence, and even as Yuuri sunk into the bed, he could feel the awkwardness permeating his apartment like some sort of miasma. Maybe if he was quiet long enough they’d get the message and just leave? “Look, how about I help tidy up or something-- at least get his tie off-- and I’ll text you when he’s all set?” There was some sort of rustling, some mumbling, and after that Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to pay any more attention to the two. His bed was so soft and warm underneath him. He could feel his breathing even out, the comforting size of his tiny little room hovering over his shoulders like a blanket. He wasn’t out in the open. No one could get him here. He could just sink into his bed, close his eyes, and fall for a little while into the safety of his bed.

 

Until someone _else_ was set on waking him back up, calling his name, and all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and grumble, turning over and very nearly choking on his tie. What a way to wake up. “That’s what I was trying to avoid,” Alexei hushed, brushing Yuuri’s hair out of his eyes and, in the darkness of the room, clumsily undoing the knot of Yuuri’s tie. He could feel Alexei’s hands brushing his throat, only moonlight filtering in between the slats of his window blinds. “It’s alright. You’re alright. I’m just helping you get this off. Then I’ll head home, okay?”

 

Yuuri licked his lips. Alexei, on his bed. Touching him in the dark. Yuuri could smell his cologne. “Y-yeah, okay…” What was he supposed to do, now? His neck tickled-- all he could do was squirm when he felt the fabric of his tie slip against the back of his neck, sliding against the nape. It was so… intimate, in a way. Like a loving housewife helping her husband relax after work.

 

A part of him was thankful it was dark in the room, because his face _burned_ . Any other circumstance, and he’d be looping his arms around Alexei’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss, listening to the fabric rustle as he-- no. Wrong time. If he wound himself up now, he’d just embarrass himself.  
  
“How about we do breakfast tomorrow?” Alexei offered, folding Yuuri’s tie in his hands. “I can come over at eight or nine… Nine works better for me. Then we can just curl up, watch a few movies… Just have a relaxing day in?” Alexei’s hand ran through his hair, and all Yuuri could do was tip his head into the sensation, mouth dropping open and eyes drooping closed.

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri answered, voice soft-- he would have agreed to anything Alexei asked for him, right then. “Definitely.”

 

Alexei’s voice was barely above a whisper when he said, nice and quiet, “Sleep well tonight, okay?”  Yuuri only hummed back, closing his eyes and ignoring the burn of his cheeks. How could he sleep after this?

 

But then Alexei leaned down, down, closer and closer to Yuuri’s face. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t possible. Alexei Zinoviev, kissing him. Brushing, for the umpteenth time that night, Yuuri’s hair out of his face. “Good night,” he muttered, breath hot against Yuuri’s face, and… If Yuuri hadn’t been quite awake before, well, he was awake _now_ . Alexei just walked out, softly shutting the door and leaving Yuuri breathless. Lips against his. Alexei had to know that that wasn’t just being polite in Japan-- no, it… His lips were _buzzing_. His cheeks burned. Oh, god-- Phichit would need to hear about this.

 

He didn’t know how long he stared at the door to his bedroom; all he knew was that he closed his eyes at some point during the night and fell asleep.

 

___

  


Yuuri woke up slowly, morning light red against his shut eyelids, the buttons of his shirt tight against his throat, and-- he was wearing a button down? Where were his pajamas? Squinting, he sat up and looked around his bedroom, his gums feeling absolutely filthy. Had he not brushed his teeth last night, or…?

 

Oh. _Oh_ . No, he’d panicked, he’d been taken home by Phichit, and Alexei had-- he dropped his head in his hands, face heating up-- kissed him. Alexei’s lips, soft and warm and dry and delicate, against his own… Yuuri shimmied in the privacy of his bedroom, squeezing his eyes shut and clamping his lips down above a burgeoning smile. And he’d even invited Yuuri to breakfast at-- when, nine? He whipped around and looked at his alarm clock, nearly jumping out of bed the moment he realized it was eight forty-five. Jesus. How long had he been asleep-- he’d fallen asleep somewhere around midnight, right? When was the last time he’d gotten a full eight hours? No, it didn’t matter now-- he had to pull himself together and prepare. It was at his, right? Shit-- his bed was a mess, his apartment was a mess, _he_ was a mess. Sighing, Yuuri checked his phone-- nothing-- and hurried to the bathroom.

 

Yuuri had experience hurrying through his morning routine, brushing his teeth in record time. He was a cop, after all; he’d had to wake up four to speak to new witnesses, take confessions… This should have been nothing, really, but his hair just wasn’t _cooperating_. He wet it down, soaking right through his day-old shirt, hissing through his teeth at the fresh new stressor of what to wear. He still needed to make his bed, to shave his face, not to mention making himself look even barely presentable. He scrambled for the next fifteen minutes, shaving frantically, changing into his favorite cotton shirt-- not too formal, not too casual-- and jeans, and… What time was it?

 

Just as Yuuri was doing up the last buttons of his shirt, he heard his doorbell ring. Shit. “Coming!” he shouted, running his fingers through his hair (greasy) and scrambling to the door-- “Sorry, I didn’t, um--” Yuuri pulled the door open immediately, finding Alexei with… A good three bowls of tupperware, a clunky laptop, and a grin on his face. “Uh-- welcome! Sorry about last night, it was, ah--”

 

“Long, I figured. So I made breakfast,” he explained, walking past Yuuri with a quick gesture of his tupperware, fast to set his things down in Yuuri’s kitchen and make himself at home. “It’s still hot, so…” he nearly pulled a chair out from under Yuuri’s kitchen countertop ledge, before silently rethinking it. “How about-- want to eat breakfast on your couch? I figured we could do something relaxing to recover from yesterday.”

 

Alexei was a bit like a river with a strong current, or a crowd of people going in one direction-- there was no way to resist or to change what he’d decided upon, only submission. “Oh-- okay…” he trailed off, looking around. He never really ate on the couch-- he could leave crumbs, it would be a mess, it could take ages to really get the couch properly rid of food remnants… But Alexei didn’t seem to mind him, grabbing breakfast and plopping himself right down on Yuuri’s couch as if he were perfectly at home. It was a little disconcerting, come to think of it-- the ease with which Alexei made himself comfortable, the flippant way he propped his feet up on Yuuri’s coffee table. He wouldn’t say it was _rude_ , necessarily, but… Well, maybe it was a Russian thing.

 

“Come eat! I’ve got some syrniki, some kolbasa on fried eggs… Just something from home, I thought you might like it.” Alexei patted the couch (the space right next to him, and Yuuri couldn’t help but blush), and Yuuri, steeling himself, sat down. They didn’t have to talk about last night. It could be a Russian way of saying ‘goodnight,’ or ‘sweet dreams,’ or-- Alexei cracked open the first box, pulling out some… Pancake looking thing, small and soft. “It’s syrniki-- it’s got a bit of cheese in it, and we usually have it with butter or jam, so…” he pulled out a butter knife from the box, smearing a blob of butter onto the first one, and Yuuri couldn’t help but be impressed-- Alexei thought of everything, didn’t he? “Want to try it?”

 

Did—Did Alexei make this? Yuuri silently nodded, accepting the pancake… thing (Siriki? Sirnika? Guernica? He couldn’t quite remember what it was called), biting into it and chewing in silence. It was good. Not too sweet, just a little savory from the butter—it was very Western, sure, but it was good. “I like it,” Yuuri nodded, taking another bite, and another… “It’s really good.”

 

“I’m glad! I’ve also got some kolbasa on fried eggs. My superior—my dad used to make this for me when I was little,” he explained, pulling out the next box, opening it and spooning some of its contents onto a plate. “It’s not much, but I thought—you know, comfort foods…” he trailed off, pulling out a fork for Yuuri before finally sitting back, just watching as Yuuri shoveled Alexei’s food into his mouth. Was this actually happening? Sure, he had a day off, it was good to rest and recuperate after yesterday, but this was… So considerate. So sweet of Alexei, cooking breakfast and bringing it up to Yuuri’s apartment, and all Yuuri could do was bite his lips to hold back a smile.

 

“I appreciate it. It’s—really, really nice of you,” Yuuri answered, peeking up at Alexei’s face, trying his damnedest to remember the way he smiled. “Thank you.”

 

They ate in relative silence, Yuuri tugging at his collar and sleeves; Alexei watching him through the corner of his eye, plucking another syrniki up from his box and offering it to Yuuri; Yuuri accepting, Yuuri relaxing into the couch and closing his eyes, full. “I’ve got a few movies up on my computer, if you like—last time I was here I didn’t see a TV, so…” Alexei paused, eyes wide. “I mean, I can also head out if you just want to rest. I’m sure you’re tired—“

 

“No, uh—“ Yuuri made the mistake of grabbing onto the sleeve of Alexei’s shirt, only to pull back with a blush. “I’d like that—you know I always like having you around.”

 

“Even after last night?” Alexei took Yuuri’s hand, effectively pinning Yuuri in place— “I know I was a little forward, I should have asked. I just…” Was this really happening? Yuuri went quiet, blinking once, twice, three times, absorbing Alexei’s words. “I want you to know my intentions. I’m interested in you, Yuuri. It’s alright if you’re not, I understand, I…”

 

“No, I—I…” Yuuri hated this about himself: the stutter. Every time he needed to communicate effectively, efficiently, it would kick in, throat closing up. He gripped Alexei’s shirt, breathing unsteady. He used to be so much better than this, so much more _capable_ . Now just holding a conversation was… “I—” _Shit._ All he could do was repeat himself, ‘I, I, I,’ like he couldn’t even choke out a full sentence. He just gripped Alexei’s shirt harder, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Me—Me too.” Oh god. It was out. He—good lord, this was shaping up to be a busy few days. “Is… Is that okay?” Was that ‘okay’? Seriously, Yuuri? Excellent showcasing insecurity there, that—

 

Alexei’s smile was blinding. “Absolutely!” he shouted, wrapping his arms around Yuuri (!) and holding him close. “I can’t tell you how nervous I was about this—I know what I did was beyond the pale last night, especially if you weren’t interested, but--!” Yuuri was getting nuzzled. Alexei was rubbing his nose against Yuuri’s hairline, and something inside of Yuuri shorted right out. “Is—is that okay? Haha, I’m pretty affectionate,” Alexei explained, letting go of Yuuri’s body and instead placing both hands on his face. “Wow, you’re burning up. Did you catch something, or…?”

 

“No,” Yuuri answered, barely regaining himself. “It’s…” This was so _much_. He hadn’t received this much physical contact since living with Phichit, and it was a little bit… “What m-movies did you have, again?”

 

Thankfully Alexei let go of him, letting Yuuri actually take a breath—and let today sink in. They were… Dating, maybe? At least they were both interested in each other, clearly, and that was enough of a surprise. “Oh, I’ve got…” he trailed off, pulling his laptop from the table to his lap, opening it and typing in his password—

 

Immediately accessing a tab full of pictures of guns. Coupled with them was some Russian writing, a few numbers indicating, well, maybe price, and—Alexei slammed his laptop closed, face frozen in an uncomfortable smile. “That’s…” Was Alexei buying guns? That was—sure, the crime organization they were dealing with originated in Russia, but… No, no, of course not. “Haha, sorry, I was browsing for things I wanted to buy once I returned home to Saint Petersburg,” Alexei explained, face pale, arms gesticulating. “I’d never take anything to Japan, of course! I know your weapon-carrying and ownership laws, haha…” Oh. _Oh_ , that made so much more sense. Yuuri let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, sinking back into his couch and grabbing one more… pancake thing.

 

“No, I understand,” Yuuri answered with a relieved smile, “Although I recommend you don’t purchase those online so long as you’re on Japanese soil.”

 

Alexei laughed at that, leaning back and opening his laptop, quickly minimizing his tabs before bringing up some movie application. “Don’t you worry about that,” he grinned, looping an arm around Yuuri’s back and clicking ‘play’.

 

Yuuri didn’t so much pay attention to the film as he felt the warmth of Alexei’s arm around his back, strong and steadying and _his_ , and all Yuuri could do was slowly cuddle up against his… Date. His date. Tall and confident and sweet and peeking at Yuuri’s face from the corner of his eye, lips curled up in a smile-- Yuuri buried his face into Alexei’s shoulder, embarrassed at being caught. Usually they could talk with such ease, but now… Well, it would come back. It had been awhile for Yuuri, was all. At least Alexei pulled Yuuri in closer, pressing his cheek against Yuuri’s hairline, and, oh, all Yuuri could do was melt into the affection. This was nice.

 

Unfortunately, it was over quick; Yuuri had barely paid attention to the meandering plot, instead closing his eyes and feeling the pattern of Alexei’s sweater, wondering what they could go out and do next time… He was dating. At least it seemed that way. God, Phichit would be over the _moon_. “Hey,” Alexei asked, voice soft, delicately extricating himself from his position on the couch, “I have to get going-- make a call to home, all that. Can I get your number? We can do this again sometime.”

 

Yuuri almost didn’t know what to say. ‘Do this again sometime.’ They’d watch a movie and curl up on his couch and-- “Yeah, definitely. That’d be great. Um…” Yuuri was thankful beyond belief for today. For breakfast, for the affection, for the pleasant company. “Thank you. For today. I’ll get the tupperware back--”

 

Alexei cut him off with a quick kiss, and Yuuri could die happy right then and there. “It’s what I’m here for-- and take your time, okay, honey?”

 

Honey. _Honey_. Alexei called him honey, and smiled down at his face, and… Holy shit, Yuuri couldn’t believe this was happening. “Y-yeah.”

 

They exchanged numbers; they kissed again once, twice more, standing at the doorway, Yuuri gripping onto Alexei’s sweater. “I’ll see you soon then, won’t I?” Alexei smiled, before walking out, tossing a wink over his shoulder in Yuuri’s direction as he walked down the hall. Yuuri closed the door carefully, before leaning on it and sinking down to the floor, absolutely thunderstruck. They’d kissed. They’d started dating. Alexei was interested in someone like _him._ For a good minute Yuuri sat there, hands on his cheeks, grinning to himself in the silence of his apartment.

 

Until it was time to text Phichit, telling him the good news.

  


**BOY.**

 

**/BOY./**

 

**Yuuri, omfggggggggggg**

_ He kissed me goodnight last night-- at first I thought it was a Russian thing, lol _

**Did he give you the dicc??**

_ For the love of god, Phi.  _

**So he gave you the lipp**

**But seriously, you snagged a hot Russian boyfriend**

**Babe, you snagged the HOTTEST Russian boyfriend-- holy shit his jawline, Yuuri, I thought he’d cut me just by being in his VICINITY**

_ Oh my goddd  _

_...He made me breakfast, too. _

**AND HE MADE YOU BREAKFAST**

**LOCK HIM DOWN BB**

_ How bored are you at work? _

**I’m working, don’t you worry-- I’m just happy for you!!**

**Sweep him away tonight**

_ I kinda need to return his tupperware _

**Take his tupperware to him and ~~sweep him away~~**

_ Lmao ok… Let me just get myself a little more put together; I’ll see you later, okay? _

**K babe, give him the succ**

_ STOP  _

___

Yuuri just laughed as he placed Alexei’s… pancakes? Syrnikoo? Syr… Syrniki! As he placed Alexei’s Syrniki into his own tupperware, carefully cleaning his neighbor’s tupperware and drying it off. Of course Phichit would blow a gasket, overjoyed for Yuuri’s little conquest. Really, he didn’t know how he did it himself-- he’d just… Talked? Let himself be pulled along by Alexei? 

Smiling down as he wiped off his neighbor’s-- his  _ date’s _ \-- tupperware, Yuuri packed it all up and picked up his keys, deciding to take the stairs down. Today was going to be a good day-- was already one, come to think of it. He knocked on Alexei’s door, hearing an automatic loud thump; was he alright? Did he hit his head on something, or…? No, he was fine-- probably just surprised. Yuuri waited, smile still very much in place as he heard a scuffle, followed by a quick, “I’m coming, just a second!” from Alexei. 

“Take your time!” Yuuri called right back, looking down the hallway. Just a neighbor returning tupperware, at least on the surface. He smiled down, looked at the red plastic of the top. Alexei had cooked him breakfast, brought over a movie. Kissed him. If Yuuri briefly shifted his weight to his tip-toes out of happiness, who could blame him? 

When the door open, Alexei wedged himself into the opening, leaning hard against the doorframe. “Yuuri!” he grinned, before whipping his head back behind the door. 

“Is-- is this a bad time?” he asked, squinting at Alexei’s face with the remnants of a smile. Was he interrupting work? 

“No, no, I just-- um-- wow, did you already bring the tupperware back? That’s great!” Alexei smiled, while Yuuri peeked over his shoulder. Was it some sort of surprise? A friend, maybe-- oh. Wait. That was a gun. Yuuri saw a gun on Alexei’s coffee table, metal and matte and lethal beyond words, and… No, that couldn’t be. Alexei had promised he wouldn’t-- “Yuuri?” That was a gun on the table. Next to ammunition, barely visible from its box, the Russian letters clear and blatant, there, and Alexei had a gun-- was it cosplay, maybe? No. He had ammo. Why…? Alexei pulled back into his apartment, the door left only barely ajar. Of course Yuuri stepped in, looking at the gun on the table, at the ammunition, and-- the boxes. 

Since when were there boxes in Alexei’s apartment? They were stamped in Russian, illegible to Yuuri but somehow foreboding, and just what was going on? “Why-- I told you not to buy any guns here,” Yuuri admonished Alexei, his mind foggy. Alexei couldn’t have just bought some online-- customs would have snapped them up long before they got to this address. What…? What was going on, here? Alexei reappeared behind Yuuri, slamming the door shut. 

Yuuri’s heart dropped to his stomach. His means of escape had just been cut off, and-- no. No, this had to be a mistake. Alexei would explain everything. He’d smile at Yuuri and hold him close and explain away all these questions circling around in Yuuri’s head, biting at him, eroding his trust as the seconds ticked by. 

But Alexei stayed still. He didn’t smile, instead staring down at Yuuri with an expression he’d never seen before. Not joy, or anger, or exhaustion, just… Nothing. Something in his eyes went cold, and Yuuri wanted so badly to just step back outside and start this all over. But instead he was alone in Alexei’s apartment with a stranger and a gun, and his whole body went cold. Something was wrong. So wrong. “Alexei…?” Yuuri asked, voice shaking. Where was Yuuri’s Alexei? He was so much warmer than this, so much kinder than this, and looking at the man in front of the door-- it felt like Alexei had left and this stranger remained in the apartment, glaring down at Yuuri as if wondering how to hide his body, hand stuffed in his pocket. Alexei had called him honey not hours ago, and-- and-- “What’s wrong?” 

Alexei smiled, pulling his hand from his pocket and swinging it in Yuuri’s direction. He felt something prick at his neck-- something sharp, something painful, uncomfortable, and already his vision was beginning to falter. His legs felt weak. This was wrong. All wrong. Where was Alexei? Who was this? Voice low, already beginning to slur, he asked-- “Alexei?” He stumbled, fell forward into his date’s arms, squinting up at Alexei’s face as if he were unrecognizable. What was happening? Who  _ was  _ this? 

Alexei smiled, serene and familiar as Yuuri began to lose consciousness. “It’s Victor, actually.” 

****  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we get a little bit of domesticity before things turn awful! As a side note, I tried to add in emojis galore on Phichit's part, but it seems like Ao3 isn't a fan. Just think of a lot of eggplant and sweat emojis, and you get the gist of it. ;) 
> 
> That said, I'm sorry this took so long to come out! I was busy with real life stuff, but I want to thank everyone who kudo'd and commented on this! It really motivated me, and you guys are all so fabulous! Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> P.S., if you want updates etc., check my (NSFW) blog, darling-on-ice on tumblr!


	4. Bringing Home Your Small Animal

Yuuri remembered moving. He remembered warm hands and a soft voice against the shell of his ear. A prick of something sharp into his arm. Something salty in his mouth-- water, maybe. He remembered bright lights and sky in the daytime and his body rocking in a swaying room, and above it all he remembered Alexei’s face, smiling and comforting. Alexei’s hands brushing through his hair. 

 

When he finally woke up, fully alert, Yuuri felt like he’d bit hit by a train. There was nasal congestion, sure, but more importantly he couldn’t bring himself to move: he shook his wrists and ankles, tied down not by any restraints but by sheer exhaustion. Where was he? Yuuri cracked his eyes open, stared up at a ceiling he didn’t know, flooded with cold gray light. A window was behind him. Drool was dripping down his cheek from his mouth, but he couldn’t even bring himself to wipe it away, instead lolling his tongue back and forth in some attempt to clean himself. It didn’t work. 

 

“Good morning,” called an unfamiliar voice, low and gentle, and Yuuri did his damnedest to look in its direction. There was a man he didn’t know, kneeling down on-- on the bed Yuuri was laid upon. Blond hair with a brunet undercut. Blue eyes and eyelashes that swept along his cheekbones. A bag of an unidentifiable white powder in his hand. 

 

“Wha…?” Yuuri slurred, squinting up at his apparent… Captor? Savior? He didn’t know. The room was so white. There were bookshelves-- it didn’t look like a hospital, so it didn’t seem that he’d been shot again. 

 

Wait. Where was he? Last he knew he was in his apartment, getting Alexei tupperw-- oh. No. Victor. 

 

Something was wrong. Where was he? He’d been jabbed with some sort of anesthetic, but what if he’d had an allergy to it? What if he’d stopped breathing? What had Alexei  _ done _ ? “Agh,” he choked out, doing his damnedest to verbalize, ‘Alright, who are you and what’s going on?’ 

 

“Shh, baby, it’s all okay. You’re okay,” the man cooed, taking a tissue from a nightstand nearby and wiping off spit from the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri did his best to flinch away, to frown and glare, anything, but-- shit. He was hardly in a position to look threatening. “You’re gonna be able to move just fine in about an hour-- the anesthetic should wear off soon, don’t you worry.” Anesthetic? What-- where was he? How did he…? “Aww, babe, relax,” Yuuri’s apparent caretaker cooed, patting Yuuri’s stomach-- he couldn’t even twitch away,  _ dammit _ \-- and leaning onto his hand to speak. 

 

“You’ve had a long few days, huh? All that traveling, all that propofol…” he trailed off, pursing his lips and looking out into the distance, mumbling something to himself in French before lapsing into outright silence, the awkward tranquility of it stretching on. And on, and on... Yuuri closed his eyes, just about to drift back off, when he felt a pat on his head. He cracked an eye open, watching the stranger tap away on his phone. “Anywho, little pet, you just rest up while I call Victor. He--”

 

Victor. Not Alexei-- the stranger at his bed said his name with such nonchalance, as if his whole existence weren’t something new to Yuuri; as if his charade as ‘Alexei’ hadn’t been some sort of cruel joke. Yuuri made a move as if to get away, his breathing quickening; his heart beginning to hammer away in his chest. He had to get out of here. He had to get  _ home _ . A few days, the stranger said? Phichit would be worried-- his family would be worried, his colleagues would be-- “Hey, hey, baby, shh.” Again the stranger hushed him, carefully carding his fingers through Yuuri’s hair as if the act would calm him down. 

 

It sent him into a straight panic. He gurgled and choked on his own spit in some attempt to communicate the ‘get the fuck off of me!’ he felt-- where  _ was  _ he? Who was this, this-- man who kept touching him? Yuuri looked down as best as he could at his clothes-- just what he’d been wearing before, but… How could he get out of here, his mind sluggish and his body heavy as lead? “Hey. Shh. It’s okay. Calm down, honey,” the caretaker admonished, voice soft. “You’re not in danger. You’re okay.” 

 

There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t put up a fight-- he couldn’t even  _ move _ , not for any restraints but his own body. Exhausted and desperate and panicked, Yuuri relaxed back into the bed and closed his eyes. “There we go, there’s a good boy. Great job.” The petting resumed, and all Yuuri could do was grit his teeth and do his damnedest to glare. “You’re not half as cute as Victor says you are, you know,” he mumbled, pouting his lips and flicking Yuuri on the nose as if he were some animal to tease. 

 

Yuuri wanted to punch him. He would have, if he had the strength. 

 

Instead, he closed his eyes and listened carefully, waiting for the anesthetic to wear off-- for now, he could try to bide his time and gather information. Thankfully the stranger was speaking in English, seemingly for Yuuri’s understanding, explaining quietly, “Yeah, Vic, Sleeping Beauty’s up. He doesn’t seem half as sweet as you make him out to b-- Jesus, get through customs first. No, you can’t--” Yuuri heard a sigh, “He can’t verbalize anything for shit yet, and Georgi says it’ll still take a few hours for him to recover, but-- Vic, babe, don’t make Yurio take th--” Another pause, this time longer. “...Fine, I’ll babysit ‘til you get in, but the moment you’re here, I’m out.” 

 

The call must have ended, because the stranger sat back down on the bed (whose bed was this, anyway?) and resumed petting Yuuri’s hair. “You have the  _ worst  _ boyfriend.” 

 

___

 

Yuuri didn’t know how much time had passed, with his evident caretaker fiddling on his phone and generally not speaking; all he knew was that when Alexei-- Victor walked in, the light in the room was different, and that he could move his limbs-- albeit sluggishly. “Yuuri!” he called with his trademark grin, hopping onto the bed and laying down. “How are you feeling? A little more awake?” 

 

“I’ll just leave, then,” the stranger sighed, somehow looking… Put out, maybe? 

 

Yuuri craned his neck to watch him leave as Victor waved a quick, “Thanks, Chris!” Oh, so his name was Chris. Huh. That… Would have been useful, if Chris had bothered with introductions. 

 

The door shut. Yuuri was alone with a man who had kidnapped him, and who seemed to be conveniently ignoring that fact. Laying in some stranger’s bed in some strange room, Yuuri was absolutely terrified. Well-- first things first. Yuuri tested his motor skills, curling his toes and clenching his hands into fists: he could move, at least, but that didn’t fix much. “Oh, so you can move on your own again?” Al-- Victor observed with a smile, taking Yuuri’s hand in his own and leaning down as if to give it a kiss. 

 

Yuuri pulled his hand away, sitting up and ignoring the vertiginous dizzy spell that lanced through him. No, more importantly-- “Where am I, Alexei?” 

 

“Victor,” his captor answered without skipping a beat, leaning onto his hand and looking perfectly at home in this nightmare. “I’m Victor. And you’re at my place!” he exclaimed, patting his lap and calling out into the house, “Makkachin!” 

 

Almost immediately, a large poodle (not unlike Yuuri’s old one) ran into the room and leapt onto the bed, making himself at home. Yuuri might as well have been shot into a different dimension, where nothing made sense: Alexei was Victor and had a dog, this place was his place despite his apartment back in Tokyo being nowhere near this large-- 

 

Wait. He wasn’t-- “Your place as in…” Yuuri trailed off, his mind already running down the list of charges: kidnapping, human trafficking across international borders, forced intoxication and sedation… How did he even get here? What had even  _ happened _ ? 

 

“Saint Petersburg, yes! I’d wanted to have you visit for ages, and, while these aren’t exactly the perfect circumstances…” he trailed off with a shrug of one shoulder, petting his dog-- Makkachin-- and reclining in his bed. “Sorry about that, by the way, the whole…” Alexei-- no, Victor waved his hand in a circle as if to gesticulate, ‘that whole kidnapping business.’ “Really, it was a bit of a bind-- the  _ one  _ time I have products sent to my actual apartment, and you choose to return tupperware the same day as you receive it.” Smilingly, Victor laid onto his back, musing, “Who returns tupperware day-of?” 

 

Wh-- Yuuri blinked, sitting up (finally) and covering his face with his hands. “Oh, be careful-- you haven’t actually moved in a week or so; you should start slow.” 

 

There was a good second until Yuuri turned to Victor. “How are you so  _ calm  _ about this?!” He didn’t expect his voice to be so venomous, but-- he had been  _ kidnapped _ . Carted off like chattel for the last week, and his friends and family didn’t even know he was alive, and they were looking for him and they were scared, and-- so was he. “You’ve just  _ kidnapped  _ me and dragged me over international borders-- Jesus, Alexei--” 

 

“Victor,” Victor cut in, again, and-- did he not realize the severity of this?! 

 

“ _ Victor _ , you’ve just-- I need to go home! I can’t-- I can’t--” Yuuri couldn’t breathe. He was in a foreign country; there were no resources for him whatsoever. No one was going to help him; he was entirely alone, and would most likely die here. He would never see his family again. Phichit and Yuuko and Takashi and his friends and family and he was going to  _ die _ here-- 

 

“Hey,” Victor cooed, placing a gentle hand along the hunch of his back. “You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you. Okay, Yuu--” 

 

Yuuri slapped Victor’s hand right off his back, storming as best as he could out of the room. He was stuck with some maniac who was god-knows-how-deep in the Russian mob, and-- oh, god. Oh,  _ god _ , Yuuri had been living next to a member of the Russian mob and he hadn’t even known it. He heard the dog barking behind him, and he turned back, holding his arms up as if expecting an attack-- no. He just sat there, wagging his tail and looking at him expectantly. How could Alexei-- Victor-- be so casual about this? How could he just kidnap a man and not expect any sort of fallout?! 

 

Yuuri’s heart hammered in his ears. He had to get out. Get home-- out-- he hurried, sluggish, through the apartment, expansive and colorless and overwhelmingly large-- to what had to be the front door. The kitchen was nearby, it was shut, there was a coat rack right by it. Victor wasn’t following him (god knew why) and he was getting  _ out,  _ he decided, wrenching the door open-- 

 

“Hi!” Yuuri’s former babysitter-- Chris-- was stationed right in what looked like a hallway, a pistol aimed right between Yuuri’s eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that babysitting duty was over, huh?” he smiled, pinky tapping on the magazine. Oh, god. Yuuri’s heart pounded in his ears. A gun, at him. His leg ached. He was going to die like this, some John Doe in some foreign city, and his family and friends would never know.

 

He was cornered. “Gonna go back inside like a good boy, then?” Chris asked, pulling back and waggling the gun (Yuuri couldn’t help but stare at it, breath caught in his throat-- he was going to shoot someone like that, whether it be Yuuri or himself, and-- oh, god-- “I don’t wanna use this baby on an easy shot like you, hm?”

 

Yuuri stepped back and closed the door. Sank to the ground. His ears were ringing. 

 

He was going to die here. 

 

He’d never have Mom’s katsudon again. He’d never watch another soccer match with his dad; talk with his sister. 

 

There was a soft snuffling at his ear, and that damned dog was pressed up against his back. Yuuri hunched over. Put his head in his hands. Shook. 

 

He had to regain composure. He had to get  _ out  _ of here, by hook or by crook. He had to think back to basic training. What had he been instructed to do? Where were the exits? He’d already established that his main one was cut off, sure, but-- but-- 

 

Windows. How high up was he? No-- no, no, he had to get somewhere safe, somewhere where he wouldn’t be incapacitated again. Pushing the dog away, he stumbled around the house while Victor reclined on the bed, watching him like some sort of  _ specimen _ . “Do you want a tour of the house, Yuuri?” he called from the bedroom, and Yuuri wanted to  _ throttle  _ him. 

 

But who knew what he had at his disposal in the comfort and safety of his home. His territory. No, he had to get somewhere safe, somewhere private-- a bathroom! He scuttled into the nearest one, fitted with a bath and shower, white hexagonal tiles running up the walls-- perfect. There would be no getting to him here; he was safe. Sure, there was no window-- only a vent to worry about, really, if Victor was planning on introducing some sort of anesthetic to him through gas-- but it was enough. There was water, if no food, and he could stay clean until he put himself together. 

 

Yuuri locked the door (turn lock, rather than a push one-- Victor would have to break the door down to get to him), sat down, brought his knees to his chest, and tried his damnedest to arrange his thoughts, alone in a bathroom in a foreign country. 

 

But first he needed to slow his hammering heart, control his breathing. He was halfway into a panic attack, he knew that already-- his mind felt foggy, his breath just wasn’t coming to him, his whole body was shaking-- god, his friends and family must have been so  _ worried _ . 

 

No. He had to keep himself together. Now wasn’t time to panic. Taking shaking breaths, Yuuri closed his eyes, evident tears clinging to his lashes, and breathed. Just… Breathed. Here, at least, he was safe. Here, at least, he could gather himself. Figure something out. Breathe. 

 

It might have been ten minutes later when he was starting to calm down, starting to feel, well-- if not  _ right _ , exactly, at least a little better-- and Victor had to knock on the door. “Hey.” 

 

Yuuri dipped his head back into his knees with a quiet curse. “Don’t, Alexei.” Ah-- fuck. 

 

At least Victor had the understanding not to correct him-- “Victor, actually.” Yuuri looked to the ceiling as if that would somehow help him. “Look, I know that this must be-- well, surprising, to say the least--” 

 

“You kidnapped me and took me across international borders. That’s human trafficking, Victor.” 

 

That shut him up. 

 

...Until it didn’t. “In all fairness, hon, I didn’t kill you on the spot.” 

 

Yuuri could  _ feel _ his eyes widen. “That’s not a defense, Victor. Jesus--” this was who he really was? How could Yuuri have just-- just-- “I need to go home.” 

 

“And you will.” Victor sounded so fervent, as if he were telling the truth-- Yuuri couldn’t stifle his laugh. 

 

“Just like you’re Alexei, and just doing groundwork on a Russo-Japanese trading company.”

 

“The last part wasn’t technically a lie,” Victor corrected, voice almost… Soft. Yuuri sighed, closing his eyes and curling his toes against the cold tile of the floor. 

 

“The rest of it was, though.”    
  
“Yeah,” Victor finally admitted, quiet. “The rest of it was.” There was a long silence, and just as Yuuri was beginning to relax, to stop focusing on the other side of the door and start focusing on how to get the fuck  _ out  _ of here, Victor continued, “But you are going to go home. I mean it. I just… Need you to trust me a little, here. I know what I’m asking, just… I need you to understand the whole scope of my position, and then--” 

 

He wanted Yuuri to work with him. At the very thought, he felt sick-- it was either Victor’s syndicate or a Chinese one that had sold to his shooter the gun that had left Yuuri nearly incapacitated for months. The man outside the door was responsible for innumerable deaths, and Yuuri had nearly  _ dated  _ him. 

 

“Stop it. Just--  _ stop _ , Victor.” 

 

Yuuri listened for several minutes for some kind of response, before he heard a shuffle-- Victor must have been sitting down on the other side of the door, and the image would have been cute in any other circumstance. As it was, Yuuri couldn’t tell whether he preferred being alone or not. 

 

___

 

Yuuri didn’t know how much time he’d spent in the bathroom. He would have guessed a good two days, but-- time was just different, here. There was no day. No night. No alarm clock. Only erratic dozing off and the occasional voices on the other side of the door, whispered in low Russian (with smatterings of what Yuuri thought was French, Italian, German.). He could hear doors open and close, hear someone pattering around the house-- he could hear Victor’s voice calling to his dog, occasionally checking on Yuuri like an animal, and… he needed out of here. He needed to know Victor was gone before he finally left the bathroom, maybe stuffed his face full of food and ate until he could finally fill the void in his stomach-- no.  _ No _ . Yuuri ran the sink for the umpteenth time, gulping down water as a substitute for food. It had worked for this long, even if he’d been pissing like a racehorse the last few days. 

 

He just needed to know Victor was out. He had left the bathroom twice, now, only to find him reclined on his sofa, eyes wide, before welcoming Yuuri to sit next to him. No. No, he wasn’t going to risk that again-- not after being drugged by him. So, exhausted and aching and cold on the tile of the bathroom floor, Yuuri listened. He waited, as someone shuffled around the apartment; he waited as the lights in the apartment shut off, long after daylight had stopped filtering in. Victor was asleep.

 

No. He didn’t know. He needed to wait. He just needed to wait a little longer-- then he could get out, find someone who spoke English, make his way to the nearest embassy. It wouldn’t be hard, especially not if he was the only one in light clothing: there was even the likelihood of getting arrested, getting into police custody, getting deported! Yuuri silently hoped it would be that easy as he stepped out, glancing at Victor’s bedroom door. Closed. Yuuri gulped. It sounded loud in the silence of the room, but he had a  _ chance _ . He crept out into the living room, looking out of the expansive windows-- all he needed to do was open them. Maybe scale down… He didn’t know how far. Knowing Victor, it would be far, but it was better than the certain death or imprisonment here. He looked out, and-- whoa. He pulled back. 

 

Well. That was far. Maybe… Twenty, thirty stories? Yuuri took a few shaky breaths as if to steady himself. There were terraces all the way down, though, at least from his perspective. All he had to do was keep to the railing, scale the wall for maybe twenty feet… Even if he had to break into a stranger’s apartment, he could still be arrested. Sent home. 

 

Then again, the gun laws here were much more lax than they were back in Japan, weren’t they? No-- best to find help on the ground. Gulping, he pressed his fingers up against the windowpane, before recoiling. That was cold. Too cold for his flimsy indoor clothes by far, and there weren’t nearly enough people milling the streets to warrant his plan of getting noticed by a stranger. 

 

But he didn’t know how many chances he had left. Yuuri turned toward Victor’s bedroom, checked that he was asleep. He wouldn’t get many chances like this-- he had to just stop thinking it over and act. Carefully, he opened the windowpane outward, wind hitting him in a gust; shit. He didn’t have much time. Victor might notice the change in volume from the streets, the change in temperature, anything; Yuuri put his hand out, looking for something to grab onto, careful to keep his balance inside, when-- 

 

There was a red dot. There was a red dot on his hand, laser focused, and Victor had actually trained snipers on his own apartment building-- the discovery made Yuuri’s heart drop to his stomach. 

 

But it was windy. He wouldn’t have many chances. If he was quick-- 

 

There were arms around him, and the next thing he knew he was pulled back, off balance, and-- he wasn’t the only one to fall to the floor. 

 

“Yuuri, don’t  _ do  _ that!” Victor admonished from behind him, his chin… Almost nuzzling into his back. Muffled, Victor continued, voice soft, “You could have hurt yourself, you know.” 

 

Sitting in what had once been his date’s arms, icy wind blowing in through the window, Yuuri finally snapped. He had spent days trying to get away, only to be stopped by his sheer inability to escape. He could have killed Victor earlier, could have found some sort of knife and slit his throat in the night-- there were so many things he could have done differently. Never smiled at him in the lobby in the first place; turn down his invitations to dinner. But here he was, just feet away from escape after days of this, and-- 

 

The next thing he knew he was on his knees, Victor’s lapels in his hands; Victor’s face, wide-eyed, staring up at him. Distantly, he realized that the noise that left his ears ringing was his own voice, shouting obscenities he’d only thought before. His knuckles hurt, white from his own grip. His throat hurt from screaming. Victor only watched him, eyes wide, unaffected-- it just made Yuuri  _ madder _ . He wanted to hurt him-- he wanted to  _ make _ Victor understand the severity of his actions, whether he liked it or not, and when he heard himself shout “I’ll fucking kill you!” he almost believed it. “Do you hear me? Do you  _ fucking  _ understand, you piece of shit?!” 

 

Victor didn’t even answer. All Yuuri could hear was wind blowing in; his own panting; the distant sound of a siren. Victor just watched him, eyes almost clear-looking in nothing but the light that filtered in. Yuuri wanted to punch him. To beat him until there was some human response, something other than this blank, dead expression stuck to his face. He wanted this to just-- end, to stop entirely. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be with his friends and family and away from all of this-- this-- 

 

He was so tired. So tired of sleeping on tile and hearing unfamiliar voices and sounds. So tired of trying to get out, of feeling watched; so tired of every sound being a new threat. He ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut-- if he started crying now, he didn’t know what he would do next. Still-- Victor was still watching him, with those awful omniscient eyes that looked as if they were piercing to the core of the issue. He had to regain himself. Deep breaths. He needed to breathe. In and out. There he was, effectively on Victor’s lap, carefully letting go of the lapel of Victor’s pajamas. He pulled away. Stood up. Gulped-- found that his throat hurt. 

 

There was nothing he could do. No way out for him-- he had to get home. He needed to. He didn’t know what to do. He was stranded with a psychopath not a foot away from him and he  _ didn’t know what to do _ . “Yuuri,” Victor called to him, voice hushed. Like he was soothing some sort of spooked animal. “Give me two days. Just two more days. Please. Trust me. Then I’ll book the next flight back to Tokyo for you.”  

 

Two days. Yuuri felt the corners of his mouth turn up in some twisted facsimile of a smile. He couldn’t trust Victor as far as he could throw him, but what other choice did he have? Gritting his teeth, Yuuri turned back to his captor, looked him in the eye. “Fine, but I’m taking the bedroom.” No more nights spent on tile. He walked halfway to Victor’s bedroom, before turning around and calling, “And if you try and break in, I’ll kill you on the spot.” He didn’t know how. He didn’t know if he wanted to stomach the thought of killing someone he’d thought of as a close friend, but-- he knew he would go through with it, if push came to shove. They both did. 

 

He ushered Victor’s dog out of the bedroom, closed the door, pushed a dresser in front of it-- and went to bed. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!! I've been thinking about this chapter for aaaages! There were so many ways I wanted to take it-- and I might try and use those ideas in later chapters! But so far I wanted to emphasize Yuuri's rapidly evolving relationship with Victor, and how trapped he feels. How do you guys think I did? 
> 
> As always-- I'm so crap at replying to comments, but I really, really want to thank all of the commenters from the last chapter! Anabonnana really made me rethink how I was writing this-- not to mention Victor's defense, when I have Yuuri and him have an actual conversation about his abduction (that'll be next chapter). Tanzia911 was SO on the mark about, well-- almost everything! At least the gist of what was going to happen, but I really liked the idea of a nonchalant Victor who liked the look of airheadedness. I'll reveal his plans either later on here or in another installment of a series. 
> 
> There's a lot more to come (and I'm sure a lot of editing I'll be doing when I go over this again after having posted, lmao), but I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Going Out, Part 1

When Yuuri woke up, light streamed in through the window above him onto the grey of Victor’s sheets, soft as sin and inescapable. He could stay there for days, weighed down by nothing but exhaustion. But Victor seemed to be knocking at the door, whining at him not unlike a cat asking for food. “Yuuuuuuuri!” he called, stretching out his name as if he had any right to act close to him anymore. 

 

Yuuri sat up, squeezing his eyes shut to fight off the vertiginous sensation of the room spinning around. When was the last time he’d eaten, again? Days ago? Well. Licking his teeth (in need of a good brushing) and checking his pants (filthy), he ran a hand through his hair and called back to his captor, glaring at the door, “What?” 

 

“We need to get going-- I’ve got breakfast from the place downstairs. Does a bagel and egg sound good?” Victor answered back, and, oh. God. Yuuri’s mouth  _ watered _ . Food. God, he hadn’t had it in… He didn’t know how long. But the food could have been drugged, or poisoned, or worse, and-- Yuuri dropped his face into his hands. He couldn’t just starve here. He had to get back. Charge Victor with human trafficking, if he ever caught the bastard on Japanese soil again. 

 

If he stayed like this, he’d starve to death. That was what he told himself, at least, as he stepped gingerly off the bed on weak legs, using his body weight to move the dresser back to its original place. If some plate crashed to the floor against the wall, sandwiched between that and the dresser, well-- not his problem. “Can I come in?” Victor asked, already turning the doorknob. 

 

Yuuri just pulled back, looking behind him-- the bed was at the center of the room, the closet on the side; there was no way out aside from the front door. If he had to, he’d try and angle his captor toward the bed, then go for the door, then-- he didn’t know. So long as Victor didn’t try and get too close, he’d be fine. He… He didn’t know. He was going to accept Victor’s food, staying physically away from him; even to his own ears, his reasoning didn’t make sense. He needed to plan some escape, in the (likely) event that Victor was lying through his teeth last night. 

 

He didn’t know what to do. Whether to trust him or not, whether to accept food from him or not-- nothing was stable, anymore. With Alexei, back in Japan, Yuuri would have accepted anything given to him without question. He’d trusted Alexei. But now… “Good morning!” Victor smiled, placing a brown bag on the floor and stepping back, arms up. “It hasn’t been tampered with, don’t worry,” he explained, kneeling reflexively to keep his dog back from the bag, pressing a kiss to the dog’s head and mumbling, “Makka, no-- we’re not having a repeat of last year.” 

 

Yuuri almost wanted to ask what had happened. If it were Alexei, he would have. He would have taken his breakfast gratefully and offered him a seat next to him on the bed. 

 

As it was, Yuuri picked up the bag and sat down, pulling out-- well, a bagel and egg sandwich, just as promised. The packaging didn’t seem to be tampered with; at least he didn’t find any creases on the paper. He glanced at Victor, toddling his way to the couch, phone in his hand, acting as if nothing were out of place. 

 

He couldn’t die here. With or without his captor’s help, Yuuri decided, he’d get home. “You take a bite first,” Yuuri ordered, suppressing a smile when Victor walked back to him without a moment of hesitation. He unwrapped the sandwich (steaming, the scent of melted cheese and onions and tomatoes making Yuuri’s mouth  _ water _ ) and took a bite, before handing it back to Yuuri. Well. Seemed there was nothing else to do. 

 

He tore into his breakfast with his teeth and gulped it down, chewing be damned. 

 

___

 

It wasn’t long after Yuuri had finished his breakfast when Victor offered him a fresh pair of jeans and shirt, crisp and-- going by the tags-- newly bought. Yuuri squinted at his captor, pursing his lips. “Did you…?” 

 

“I guessed, actually,” Victor answered quickly, jerking his head to a bag on the other side of the apartment. “I’ve got a few more in different sizes, if that doesn’t work out.” 

 

Oh. Yuuri looked around, running a hand through his hair. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Alexei-- Victor-- was being almost... considerate. He looked down at the black denim of his new jeans, soft in his hands. These were nice, that much he was sure of. “In-- in a second. I mean.” He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. This had been coming for some time. “I have questions.” 

 

Victor didn’t skip a beat: “I’d figured.” He walked back to his couch, sitting down, propping his legs up, and gesturing to a nearby chair. His dog-- Makka, apparently-- hopped right onto Victor’s lap and made himself comfortable, tucking his face underneath Victor’s chin. 

 

Sitting down, Yuuri noted how relaxed Victor was. How domestic the whole scene would have been, in any different context. Yuuri laced his fingers together, staring down at his hands. “My friends and family must be worried. Are they…?” 

 

Victor smiled, idly petting Makkachin’s head. “You’ve checked yourself into a mental hospital in Setagaya, getting temporary intensive treatment for your post traumatic stress disorder. Your recent panic attack made you feel that you don’t have your anxiety under control, and you’re doing what’s best for your mental health.” Victor’s eyes flicked to Yuuri, the calculating look in them clashing with the smile plastered on his face. “You were a bit of a wreck when you checked yourself in; didn’t write down any names for contact clearance, but the hospital’s contacted your HR and has requested time off in your stead.” 

 

Yuuri just stared. Who was he sitting in front of, just then? How did he manage to fabricate Yuuri’s paperwork? What had he-- was there someone in the hospital in his place? How did Victor know about his panic attack? “I…” he trailed off. He didn’t even know where to  _ start _ . 

 

“It wasn’t hard!” Victor clarified, sticking one finger in the air with a smile, “All it really took was some fabricated paperwork, paying off a few employees, connecting all of your friends’, colleagues’, and family members’ phones to a plant here in Saint Petersburg if they ever decided to call and see what was going on…” 

 

“This was pre-m-meditated, then,” Yuuri shot back, breaking out in a cold sweat. He could feel his stutter getting worse. Was he shaking? He couldn’t tell. 

 

“Well, sort of,” Victor answered, placing his pointer finger on his chin in some caricature of a thoughtful expression. “It’s not hard to have someone paid off in advance, but to be honest--” Victor cut himself off. Brought his finger to his lips, eyes sliding back in Yuuri’s direction as if in thought. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect you to come back with tupperware on the same day. In all fairness-- I never actually bring products home; it was just spectacularly bad timing that brought you here.”  

 

‘Products.’ Did Victor mean-- oh. Jesus. “That’s an awfully cavalier way to refer to lethal weapons,” Yuuri did his damnedest to calm down and looked at his captor, really  _ looked _ at him. He couldn’t find a trace of what he remembered about Alexei: the kindness, the gentleness, the approachability. In its place was an airy smile paired with eyes that were nothing but cold and calculating. 

 

Victor’s smile never wavered as he asked, “Did I offend you?” He just stared down at his dog, scratching at his ears.

 

“They’re n-not just  _ products _ , Ale--” he cut himself off when Alexei’s-- Victor’s-- eyes slid in his direction, already poised to correct him, “ _ Victor _ . What you’re doing has direct consequences-- what you’re selling has ruined lives. You may not have to deal with the ramifications of violence, but--” 

 

“But you have, and you can’t imagine someone else-- god forbid an untrained civilian-- going through the same experience. The physical therapy. The nightmares. The sense of insecurity. Is that what you’re trying to say to me, Yuuri?” 

 

Yuuri didn’t know when he had started gripping the arms of the chair he was sat on; all he knew was that he gripped them so hard his knuckles went white. “I never told you about that.” 

 

“You weren’t very subtle, either,” Victor pointed out, smiling. “All it took was looking up the competition’s sales in Japan, just seeing how close the local authorities were to breaking up the whole sales ring, really. The article about ‘the anonymous Special Assault Team member’ came up all on its own.” Victor finally went quiet, leaving Yuuri to listen to the pounding of his heart in his ears. He was sat next to a criminal. One he’d nearly-- dated? The reality of his love life felt so far away, like another world-- the man in front of him was nothing like the man Yuuri had come to admire. 

 

The man in front of him, cool as could be, was nothing short of a monster. “I’ll admit, though, I didn’t expect to be living under the actual SAT member when I moved into our apartment, building, though. It took a few days to finally put all the puzzle pieces together-- your stutter, for example. The way you behaved around sudden loud noises, the way you’d keep an eye out for exits-- like you’ve been doing since you got here. I could tell you were trained, certainly: but it took a little parsing to find the PTSD.” 

 

Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek, biting his lips together. Who was this-- this stranger, snatching him from his home country and telling Yuuri about himself? Rattling off his insecurities and struggles as if they were nothing? “Fuck you.” 

 

Victor cocked a brow. “Did I hit a sore spot?”

 

“ _ Fuck you _ .” Yuuri spat it with as much venom as he could muster. Victor only smiled harder, hauling his dog off his lap and leaning forward. 

 

“You know, Yuuri, I like you. I do.” Bullshit. Yuuri called it right then and there. Victor only laughed, having noticed something in his expression. “I mean it-- I like how hard you work. I like the look in your eyes. You’re compassionate, determined, just…  _ good _ . A good person.” 

 

“Which is why you kidnapped me to Russia,” Yuuri retorted with a glare. 

 

“Oh, no. If I didn’t like you, you’d have been dead ages ago.” Victor winked, mimicking shooting a gun in Yuuri’s direction. 

 

Yuuri’s blood ran cold. He stayed perfectly still, the weight of the precariousness of his situation heavy on his shoulders. He was going to die here, especially if he didn’t act the way Victor liked. 

 

“Don’t look like that!” Victor grinned, flopping back on the couch-- “I like you, I really do. I wouldn’t hurt you, Yuuri-- you know that, don’t you?” 

 

“You’d just drag my unconscious body across international lines,” Yuuri snapped right back, curling in on himself. Victor must have noticed the body language, because he sat back up and looked earnestly into his eyes. 

 

“I had to, Yuuri. I just need you to understand my position--” 

  
  


“Be complicit in killing people, you mean--” 

 

“I need you to understand my position,” Victor reiterated, more forcefully this time, “And then you can go home and do what you like. Okay?” 

 

Obviously Yuuri didn’t have a choice. Victor framing it as if he did was just-- cruel and manipulative beyond belief. With a sigh, though, Yuuri capitulated, answering, “Fine. Just-- I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

 

“Already bought the plane tickets, honey,” Victor grinned, leaning back and petting his dog again, as if Yuuri being kidnapped and in some foreign country was the most natural thing in the world. Victor checked his phone for a moment, before sitting straight up. “Now-- I believe we need to get you a suit?” 

 

Wait. A suit? “I’m sorry?” 

 

“I told you we were going out, didn’t I?” 

 

Yuuri crossed his arms, eyebrows at his hairline. “You did not.” 

 

Victor paused, visibly deflating-- at least that would slow him down for a second, give Yuuri enough time to ask just  _ what  _ they were going to be doing-- “Well, we’re going out. Get dressed, we need to get you into a suit.” 

 

___

 

Yuuri never actually received a reason for what the suit was  _ for _ . Sure, he stood awkwardly while some Russian tailor chose an Italian suit for him, black as pitch and tight on the hips and ass; he stood in general silence while Victor made comments in soft Russian, dictating what he wanted adjusted while running his fingertips along the lines of Yuuri’s body. It was… Well. In any other circumstance he’d have liked the odd sense of being spoiled; the mystery of the price of the damned suit when Victor wouldn’t even let him see the receipt. 

 

Victor even took him to lunch, buying some adorable, too-sweet parfait while they waited for the final alterations to the suit to get done. 

 

It was… Really domestic, come to think of it. Sure, Yuuri had been kidnapped, but oddly it was beginning to feel so  _ normal _ . If he pulled away, Victor would silently give him space; if Victor overstepped any boundaries, he’d-- actually stop and apologize the moment he realized. 

 

It was starting to feel more like a vacation, here, one that he couldn’t escape on his own. The sensation of patience, of complacency, even-- anything that wasn’t straight-out fear or rage, given his circumstances-- felt wrong, but. 

 

He couldn’t really help it, sharing a strawberry parfait with an apparent perfect gentleman. 

 

Victor talked about the city. About Makkachin (the dog). About his favorite foods, and his hobbies, and the city’s history, and the architecture. It was all so domestic, and Yuuri could  _ feel  _ himself being pulled into Victor’s pace. 

 

While their light conversation lapsed into silence, Yuuri ran a hand through his hair and looked out onto the road-- cobblestone, settled in next to gorgeous stone buildings that had to have been hundreds of years old; snow piled on every flat surface that managed to avoid foot traffic. He should have been screaming. Fighting. Doing his damnedest to get away and get home and telling his friends that he was-- not in a mental hospital? That he’d just been kidnapped and dragged, unconscious, to a foreign country? 

 

It was less believable than the idea that he’d checked into a hospital; and, god, telling the truth would just make his loved ones think he’d stumbled into an actual mental breakdown. Victor had been brilliant, using Yuuri’s mental health as a weapon to keep him trapped; it strengthened his narrative of the events, it presented Yuuri as unstable, likely lying… 

 

The man in front of him, commenting idly about how he liked the parfait-- he was cunning and cruel and entrapment personified, all wrapped up in a heart-shaped smile. 

 

Yuuri just gripped his spoon and looked away, when Victor pulled out his phone and raised his hand for the check. “Suit’s done!” Yuuri gave his captor a look and pulled on his (borrowed) jacket.

 

All in all, it wasn’t a long walk back to the tailor’s. It didn’t take long for Yuuri to pull on the suit (were the trousers tighter than he’d remembered?), to shrug on the blazer (also too-tight) over a nice thin cotton button-down. And, looking in the mirror, he found-- well. He shouldn’t have been happy about this. He shouldn’t have felt  _ flattered  _ by the way Victor whistled at him when he walked out of the dressing room. 

 

His cheeks shouldn’t have burned in that sweet way they did when Alexei would shower him with compliments. “You look  _ fantastic _ ,” Victor gushed, looping a tie around his neck and tying it with almost dizzying speed. “I’ve wanted to see you in a decent suit for  _ ages _ \-- I can’t believe you look so good!” 

 

Yuuri just bit his lips together and tried not to smile. “Right. Where were we going?” 

 

Victor’s smile lost a good deal of its energy. He pulled away, cracked his neck, and fiddled with a moment with his phone. “To a meeting, actually. But we need to discuss a few parameters, first.” 

 

“I’m sorry?” Yuuri asked, running his hand through his hair and looking around him. “I think I’m putting up with enough ‘parameters’ as it is,” he snapped, following Victor outside, to where a car was evidently waiting. 

 

“I’m well aware Yuuri, but--” he paused, opening the door for him. There was a quick standoff: Victor planted himself right there on the sidewalk, waiting for Yuuri to step in; Yuuri refused to step in before hearing just what was expected of him-- and where on earth he was going. 

 

Victor tensed his jaw, and for the first time Yuuri felt like he was getting to him. It wasn’t a bad feeling, really-- he stayed right where he was, arms crossed, looking like a petulant child for all the world. He wasn’t giving this up. When his captor pinched the bridge of his nose, Yuuri had to fight to keep back a smile. 

 

And then Victor was in his personal space, using his arms to trap Yuuri against the metal of the car. “Technically I’m breaking rules here,  _ honey _ ,” he gritted out quietly, lips brushing against Yuuri’s ear. “I’m breaking a few rules for you, here and now, and I’d rather you got in the car and listened to me, as opposed to making a scene in public.” He pulled back, a forced smile, plastered on his face, and gestured to the interior of the car. 

 

Yuuri got in. 

 

Victor followed suit, slamming the door shut behind him and calling out an address to the driver. He then rolled up the partition, eyes on the driver, before slowly leaning back against the seat. He didn’t turn to Yuuri for a good few minutes, even then speaking quietly. “I need you to pretend not to speak English,” he began, leaving Yuuri… Well, more confused than ever. 

 

“Look, I appreciate the jumps in logic, here, but…?” he shrugged his shoulders, glancing out the window. Where were they going? 

 

“Right, um.” Victor took a deep breath, sighing, before leaning forward against Yuuri and continuing, “Look, I…” He closed his eyes. Just what was happening, here? “I told you I needed you to understand just what I’m doing and why, and I thought… Well, frankly, I’m the best person to be dealing with business in Japan right now.” He paused, taking Yuuri’s hand in his own. “I just need you to understand what our goals are, Yuuri. The mentality of my peers and…” Victor looked at Yuuri’s hand as if in thought, “I guess you’d call them superiors.” 

 

Wait. Wait a second. “Alexei,” Yuuri started, heart falling to his stomach-- Victor only just opened his mouth to correct him when Yuuri continued on, “J-just who am I meeting?” 

 

Yuuri felt hands on his shoulders. Felt them slide down his arms in a move that shouldn’t have been comforting. “You’re going to be meeting the heads of the Russian Brothers Circle, honey,” Victor explained quietly. “Well-- I’m going to be meeting with them. You’re just coming along for the ride. I mean…” Victor looked away, for the first time at a loss for words. 

 

Was Yuuri going to die like this? Did they know who he was? Was he going to be tortured and killed? Oh, god. Victor had lied to him. He’d lied the entire time, of course, but-- why had Yuuri  _ trusted  _ him? What was he thinking? 

 

“I’ve been telling them that you’re a prostitute from rural Iwate* whom I’d bought?” Victor said with an apologetic smile. 

 

Every single concern of Yuuri’s right then and there went quiet. More importantly, according to Victor he was… A  _ what _ ? 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demography_of_Japan  
>  I saw that this area had a pretty small population, but I could be wrong! Please feel free to correct me!
> 
>  
> 
> So now we see a little bit of Victor’s motivations! Some of it was premeditated, some of it was by the seat of his pants, and even Victor Nikiforov is in a bit of a bind! And even in these trying times for Yuuri, I’ve been trying to inject a bit of comedy? I wanted to get to the meeting scenes already-- they’ve been in my head for ages, and I can’t wait to have those scenes set in stone!-- but I guess we needed one more chapter of exposition and explanations. Hope this cleared a few things up!
> 
> One final note: I just want to put it out there that there is nothing shameful or wrong about sex work, and that this is a piece of fiction that in no way portrays the actual experience; that’s something I know nothing about. If there are sex workers who read this who find this offensive, I am glad to listen to criticisms about how my writing can be better in the future. Thanks!


	6. Going Out, Part 2

“I--” Yuuri choked out, trying to come up with a sentence that best portrayed his shock. Mm, no, nothing was coming.

 

“It makes sense, really,” Victor cut in quickly-- “It’s common to have someone to take care of--”

 

“Are you going to make me _do_ something?!” Yuuri asked quickly, panic very much ratcheting right back up to its former high. He’d expected violence-- he’d already been kidnapped-- but not… What was Victor planning? Was he going to be--

 

“No, no, of course not. Yuuri, listen to me. Okay? I’ll just cart you around and-- and-- well.” He sighed, before continuing on, “It’s the only way you can get around here relatively unnoticed. Since you’re mine, no one else will touch you. No one else will come near you. It’s not perfect--” he paused, closing his eyes and clearly thinking-- “It’s not near perfect, honestly, but… Please?”

 

Yuuri looked away, doing his damnedest to gather himself. Keep himself together and not scream his lungs out at the insensitive, patronizing, human-trafficking human rights abuser in front of him. “You realize I don’t have a choice.”

 

Victor was on his phone, tapping away, and Yuuri was _this_ close to hitting him, when-- oh. “This is your plane ticket, Yuuri, for tomorrow evening. One way, one ticket. I can’t give you a choice about this, but… Just get through this evening? It’s not going to be great, but...”

 

But Yuuri didn’t have a choice. That was the crux of this: he never had a fucking _choice_ \-- sure, Victor gave him the illusion of it when he asked for Yuuri’s permission, but… “Just get me through this.” Once his feet hit Japanese soil, he’d never see Victor again; ideally because he’d be in prison.

 

“Of course, honey,” Victor cooed, all sweet words and comforting whispers, looping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and holding him close. Yuuri just took it. There was nothing else he could do; he couldn’t even swallow down the shameful appreciation at the sense of genuine peace he found in the gesture. He couldn’t even assert his own goddamned autonomy in this godforsaken city, and that-- that was goddamned heartbreaking.

 

Victor just kissed Yuuri’s forehead and held his hand, pulling away the moment Yuuri shifted in his seat.

 

The ride itself wasn’t much longer than that; Yuuri stared out the window, Victor scrolled and typed on his phone intermittently. They drove through a few different neighborhoods: past palatial mansions, forests, past warehouses. He couldn’t have guessed where they were if he tried; all he knew was that they were back in some city-like area, surrounded by cobblestones and fine restaurants.

 

“Ah-- that’s our stop, honey,” Victor noted, pointing over at some enormous, rococo mess of a building. It was adorned with gold and swooping decorations, and even from half a block away, Yuuri was intimidating by the ornateness of it all. “Remember-- you don’t know English, okay? You’re gonna pretend not to understand a single thing they say.” Victor pressed a quick kiss to Yuuri’s temple, as if for emphasis. Yuuri just stayed still, jaw clenched.

 

Slowly, they rolled up to the building, tall and looming and almost glowing with reflectiveness, with statuesque detail: Yuuri could have sworn he recognized some of the myths depicted in the reliefs, but he hardly had time to spend looking at them: Victor opened the car door, grey jacket over his shoulders. He pulled Yuuri into his arms, walking him forward with a hand gentling the small of his back. Yuuri knew how he looked to an onlooker, to the doormen with whom Victor conversed in low Russian: he was owned.

 

Yuuri just stared at his feet, wondering how much time tonight would take.

 

It wasn’t long before he felt himself pushed along inside, into an expansive hallway with golden chandeliers and extravagantly patterned champagne wallpaper. There were smatterings of people gathered in the hall, every single one of them immaculately dressed. Was he in some sort of opera house? A ballet theater, maybe?

 

He didn’t know. The people just passed by in a blur as Victor led him further in, deeper into some strange world he’d never known before. People were wearing gowns, tuxedos. It felt, oddly, as if the hallway would never end; A part of Yuuri wouldn’t be surprised if it went on forever, deeper into something… Beautiful to the eye, sure, but-- off. Yuuri couldn’t place his finger on it; all he knew was that the whole place felt _wrong_ to him, somehow.

 

But then they finally made a turn, into a tall archway through red velvet curtains and-- into smoke. That was the first thing Yuuri noticed, coughing into the crook of his arm and closing his watering eyes. Victor said something to him in Russian-- he didn’t know-- and pushed Yuuri further along, into a booth already crowded with occupants.

 

“Took you long enough,” smirked some man beside him, quashing a cigar and looking down to Yuuri with an expression of-- almost derision, if Yuuri had to guess. “Is that your new toy, then? The one you’ve been raving about?” Suddenly Yuuri felt fingers on his chin, and his head yanked upwards to face this-- this-- undercut-haired asshole. His lips were forced into a pout, and all he could do was try and pull away, when the grip on his chin grew harsher. “He’s not bad. At least, for a man…”

 

“I’m trying to get him acclimated here, JJ,” Victor cut in, grabbing the stranger’s wrist and tossing it aside, “Try and be respectful.”

 

“Acclimated to what?” the apparent ‘JJ’ retorted, stuffing his hands in his pockets and eyeing Yuuri up and down. “You’re just taking him back to Japan with you, right?”

 

“Enough, JJ,” called some elderly man from across the booth, inhaling a cigarette and looking somehow absolutely lethal. Yuuri didn’t know him, obviously-- all he could tell was that by the way that JJ backed away, suddenly deferential and docile, that he was powerful. “He’s probably scared shitless as it is, anyway, and we don’t want a mess here.”

 

“Thank you, Yakov,” Victor called out to the… boss(?), pulling Yuuri close and maneuvering his legs into his lap, as if Yuuri were some doll to be toyed with, and that-- no. No, he had to put his foot down somewhere. Even if he wasn’t allowed to speak in English, he could still make a statement.

 

“S _awaruna, yarou(1)*,”_ he spat in quick Japanese, pulling his legs back and turning away, to-- shocked silence from the rest of the table.

 

It lasted for a good second or two until everyone burst out into laughter. Some giggled Russian quips, and others-- a bearded gentleman, for example-- chuckled, “No wonder you like him so much!”

 

The laughter continued on, echoing through the cavernous arches of the room. Yuuri simply gulped, held back his anger at being so fucking, goddamned _patronized_ \-- and stayed still, sandwiched between his kidnapper and some most-likely American with an apparent penchant for getting handsy.

 

“Ooh, he’s getting mad!” chortled the boss, leaning back and taking another long drag of his cigar. “You’d better stop that soon, Vitya, or he’s going to be an awful little thing to get ahold of later on.”

 

“Yakov, enough.” Yuuri turned to Victor, actually shocked. He had hardly been born yesterday: Victor was clearly telling off his own superior. “I like this one. So if you would all give him the courtesy of not patronizing him, I’d appreciate it.” With that, Victor plucked a cigar from the center of the table, pulling out a metal lighter and flicking on a light. He lit it, inhaling deeply and exhaling a thick ring of smoke. “Now, what was it we were going to discuss?”

 

“You’re no fun,” cut in some bearded man, dressed as well as his peers, “We just want to know about your new t-- friend.” He turned to Yuuri with a smile, continuing in French and German, “ _Comprends-tu Français? Deutsch(2)?_ ”

 

Shit. _Shit._ The attention had settled on him, and he could _feel_ the eyes waiting for a reaction. Yuuri licked his lips, turning to his escort and looking up to him for help. He opened his mouth, half searching for something to say and half ready to beg for help, when Victor stepped in. “Only Japanese, I’m afraid-- he might know some buzzwords in English, but I’ve checked and made sure he isn’t fluent.” Victor paused, wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, making him feel… Well and truly owned. Dehumanized beyond belief. “But he gets tone and context pretty well, so no funny business.” As if to emphasize his point, he pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

 

Yuuri did his damnedest to recoil, to get away, to do _something_. All of this made him so-- so claustrophobic. All these eyes on him, waiting for him to entertain them further, waiting for Yuuri to be helpless, useless--

 

He took a long breath, making himself sit back. No. He had to listen. Whatever this was, these people were met up for a reason. If nothing else, he could go home with more information than before, get Victor well and truly imprisoned for life. Yuuri clenched the fabric of his trousers, listening as the conversation finally died down, and the boss-- Yakov?-- took a sip of red wine and leaned forward onto the table.

 

“Let’s get business out of the way first, gentlemen,” he began, voice low. “Now, Mister Leroy, thank you for joining us-- I know it must have been a hell of a ride here from Toronto.”

 

“Nothing at all,” JJ smiled from Yuuri’s left side, crossing his legs and seemingly taking command of the conversation; everyone but Yakov and JJ went quiet. “My employer has a vested interest in continuing our business relationship-- who am I to pass up her request?”

 

“Speaking of, how are the wedding arrangements going?” Piped in some gentleman with a thick Russian accent, glaring in JJ’s general direction. There was an interesting contrast between his manner of speech and facial expression, but, well-- that wasn’t Yuuri’s concern right then.

 

JJ seemed happy at the change of subject. “Oh, it’s going _so well_!” he gushed, pulling out his mobile phone and bringing up a few pictures. “Her dress is--” he paused. Pursed his lips in thought for a moment, eyes wide open, before pocketing his phone once more. “We can discuss it later.”

 

The Russian, with slick dark hair and kohl around his eyes, bit back a smirk while Yakov only raised a brow. “Congratulations are in order, of course, but let’s save that for later-- more importantly, I want to talk about your orders. You said you wanted a few Kalashnikovs**? We can manage some forty thousand, if you need…”

 

“No, no-- we’re set with the fifteen thousand units as it is… We were more interested in purchasing a few more of your RGS-50Ms***?” JJ requested back, and-- Yuuri was in the middle of a negotiation. He stared down at his lap, silently _shocked_. They had to be discussing firearms-- nothing else sounded half as sinister; nothing else was referred to in letters and numbers. They were so casual about this, so… Nonchalant. As if the very trade they were discussing hadn’t ruined his life, his career, his sense of safety…

 

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, warm and almost comforting. Almost. No, Victor was complicit in this, actively working to to help people like this, and-- Yuuri flinched away, silently thankful for Victor at least respecting his need for space.

 

It took a good few seconds for him to realize how pathetic that concession was; how far his standards for Victor’s behavior had fallen.

 

He almost wanted to cry. But… No. No, he could keep himself composed. Keep himself lucid, attentive, at least until he got home. He had to keep himself together. Just for now. _Just for now_. He listened as prices and names were rattled off, millions of dollars, euros, renminbi, rubles were just talked away as if the men before him weren’t holding whole economies in their hands.

 

He felt sick. This was what Victor did; who he was. Smoke-filled rooms with red velvet booths and gaudy gold appliques; bringing along apparent prostitutes and treating them like accessories. Talking about gun sales and god knew what else with nothing but monetary gain in mind. Jesus. What kind of rose-colored glasses was he wearing back in Japan, not noticing this earlier?

 

JJ shuffled out of the booth at-- at some point, having shaken hands with Yakov, and finally those droopy, omniscient eyes slid in Victor’s direction. “Vitya,” he called, voice rough, somber. “Tell us about your sales in Japan.” Yakov raised one imperious brow, sitting back into his seat and taking another puff from his dwindling cigar.

 

“Of course. As you know, most weapons-- even swords, for that matter-- are forbidden as a matter of course, and--” Victor blinked rapidly, clearly searching for words, “And, frankly, this is a delicate business. We can’t be distributing too quickly; we’re already dealing with competition from the Kodo-kai, from smaller gangs in the greater metropolitan area--”

 

“And you can’t be careful and fast at the same time, Vitya? How many supplies are waiting in warehouses?” Yakov cut in with a frown, crossing his arms. “It’s not a net loss yet, certainly, but--”

 

“But we need to tread carefully, Yakov. We’ve already killed off lower members of the Kodo-kai, thanks to Yuri’s impatience, and there’s evidence that they’re working in tandem with the police to weed lower-level recruits out.” For maybe the second time, Victor looked-- almost nervous. Yuuri raised a brow. “Just because one method works here in Moscow, in St. Petersburg, doesn’t mean that it’ll work in Japan. The culture is different. You can’t just show a man a gun and expect them to pay up.”

 

“Yuri doesn’t have bad ideas, though, especially with public perception,” Yakov answered, calm and collected.

 

“Trust me,” Victor began, leaning forward, earnestly defending his apparent decision, “Public terrorist attacks and indiscriminate killings aren’t going to drive up sales, either in weaponry or in addictive substances-- all we’re going to do is alienate the general populace, mobilize a concentrated attack by the governing agencies against us-- because trust me, they _will_ know who we are if we do something that public-- and then get ourselves caught; we may be safe here, but it’ll constrict every sales avenue abroad in Interpol member countries. Not to mention--” here he paused, looking into Yakov’s eyes as if asking for permission to speak. Yakov nodded in Victor’s direction before he continued, “Not to mention, if we want an increase in sales in Japan, we need a slow, long-term cultural shift. That’s why you put me there, Yakov, because I’m patient. I’m already having a lobbyist draft a bill loosening gun regulations nationally, but this takes time.”

 

The table went quiet. Yuuri didn’t even know what to _think_ . Someone was planning terrorist attacks in the middle of Tokyo? Victor had already proved that he could smuggle contraband weapons into the country. It would only take gumption and ammunition for someone to actually _use_ it. All eyes were on Victor, until Yakov spoke. “Those are fair points. But Yura’s plan would likely increase sales of weaponry--”

 

“For a week at the most,” Victor cut in. “My plan is slower, but it’ll increase sales over time. I already have people selling off the current stock to smaller gangs unaffiliated with the Kodo-kai. I just need to break out of this niche market, and I can. I just need time.”

 

Yakov leaned back, looking for all the world as if he were considering Victor’s argument. He looked down at the table, up at the chandelier, before finally pinning his eyes on his subordinate as he answered, “Fine. But don’t do anything rash, Vitya.” He looked over in Yuuri’s direction, and if he hadn’t caught the danger in that look, he would have been close to laughing. Rash? Victor? Aside from kidnapping a member of the Organized Crime Unit and allowing him to spy on his group’s future plans?

 

Yuuri was almost thankful that Yakov’s look stopped him in his place. Kept him pinned like prey with nowhere to run or hide. Something in his gaze was-- just-- he couldn’t move. Yuuri gulped, a cold sensation running down his back. If he was caught-- he was going to die.

 

Yuuri broke eye contact first. He looked away, leaned pathetically into his captor’s arm, and closed his eyes. Shit. _Shit_. Did Yakov know? Was he in on this, or was Yuuri going straight from this garish restaurant to some sort of gulag? “Be careful, Vitya.” He repeated one final time, finally flicking the remnants of his cigar onto a crystal ashtray. “If it’s not you in Tokyo, it’ll be Yura.”

 

“And he’ll blow up everything he sees,” Victor answered, taking a last puff of his own cigar before dropping it into another ashtray nearer to his place at the table. “Don’t you worry, Yakov, I wouldn’t risk our business like that.”

 

“There’s my boy.” Yakov finished off, finally focusing elsewhere; he discussed sales to Saudi Arabia, to the local government, to places Yuuri hadn’t even heard of-- their conversation slowly turned into a buzz of background noise, the stink of smoke finally getting to him; Yuuri leaned back, blinked quickly a few times; tried his damnedest to keep listening, to keep gathering information; he could help so many people-- save so many lives. But after so many adrenaline rushes in the last twenty-four hours, he could feel himself growing groggy, exhausted.

 

He could close his eyes and listen, couldn’t he? He could listen to the drone of idle chatter, softly going on, and on, and _on_ …

 

“I think we’re going to be headed home, Yakov,” Victor finally offered with a wink, pulling Yuuri by the shoulder. Oh-- had he actually dozed off? “He’s had a long few days, and I want him to get some rest for a bit before tomorrow.”

 

“You still want to train him?” said a woman standing on the periphery of the table, pale and lanky and sharp in the face. She ran a possessive hand over Yakov’s bald head, and the puzzle pieces clicked together in Yuuri’s mind: some sort of mob wife.

 

“Not what you’re thinking,” Victor corrected with a wink, taking Yuuri’s hand and shuffling out of the booth; wrapping an arm around his shoulders the moment Yuuri extricated himself from his crowded seat and stood beside him. “We’ll be going back home tomorrow, and I want him to see a bit of town first. I’ve been thinking of it like a vacation.”

 

“Ooh, spoiling him,” a bearded teen interrupted with a grin; “I recommend Percorso-- they have the _best_ seafood. Pair it with a good white wine, and he’ll never want to leave St. Petersburg.”

 

“You’re too good to me, Emil,” Victor smiled, all the while snaking his arm around Yuuri; pulling him close by the hip. “I’ll set up a reservation tonight.”

 

Leaving was a little different from coming in. Yuuri knew the white and gold opulence of the hallway, the fine dresses worn by young debutantes and fine elderly ladies alike. He knew where they were going, too: ideally to a car, ideally to the relative safety of Victor’s apartment, where he could curl up and pretend he hadn’t just been used as an accessory for Victor’s success. Still-- he went at his captor’s pace, slow and calm and cool, until finally they reached the exit.

 

Yuuri nodded at Victor as he opened the car door; waited until it was closed with Victor inside until Yuuri slapped him.

 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” he snapped immediately, lips curling to bare his teeth. “You just _buy_ people? You just-- just-- sell weaponry and drugs like there are no _repercussions_?”

 

“I believe we’ve been over this, darl--” Victor got out most of his point before Yuuri slapped him again.

 

“I knew you sold it, Alex-- Victor. I didn’t know you worked over every hemisphere!” Yuuri could hear himself growing increasingly hysterical, but-- but-- everything about that experience was awful. “I was called a toy in there. I wasn’t even treated like a _person_.”

 

“Yuuri, I’m sorry, I know--”

 

“You’re not sorry!” Yuuri snapped, finally grabbing his kidnapper by the lapels with a snarl, “You brought me there in the first place! You _let_ them treat me that way!”

 

Victor didn’t say anything. Didn’t even have the courage to look in Yuuri’s eyes. He couldn’t even face up to what he’d done, to what he had let happen to Yuuri, and--

 

It was the worst possible time for tears to form in his eyes. For them to clump up his eyelashes, for his arms to go weak. “I wasn’t even a person to them,” he breathed, barely able to get his thoughts out; finally his tears overcame him, pouring down his face. “Is that what you think of me? Is that what I was to you?”

 

Victor at least looked him in the eyes. “Yuuri…”

 

“Answer me.” Sure, he could taste his own tears; sure, he looked pathetic right then and there, sobbing as he held his captor by the collar. But there was only so much a man could take.

 

“No, Yuuri. I--” Yuuri felt a hand on the back of his head. He felt his nose crushed against a fine Russian-made suit. Felt two arms wrap around him in a tight hug. “You’re incredible. You’ve always been. _Always_ . I’ve been serious about you since-- since, god, maybe the third dinner we had together?” There was the wet press of lips at his forehead. “I didn’t want to do this to you. I never, _ever_ did. I wanted to invite you here for the summer, at least for a vacation; I wanted to explore the city with you. I wanted romantic dinners at fine restaurants, and--” Victor sighed. Held Yuuri close. “I’m sorry. Ever since you came with that fucking _tupperware_ I’ve been frantic, Yuuri. I couldn’t just lose you. I--” he cut himself off, burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder. “I wanted this to be better. All of this. I’m so sorry.”

 

...Well. Yuuri had been ready to fight, and-- well, he didn’t know what to with all his pent-up energy, instead just pulling Victor into a hug; settling himself between Victor’s legs. He didn’t know what to say, or where to go from here. All he knew was that, for perhaps the first time since having been kidnapped, Yuuri felt as if he were approaching equal footing with his captor. “...That still doesn’t excuse your line of work, Victor,” Yuuri admonished softly, petting the back of Victor’s head.

 

“I can’t just back out, though,” he sighed, holding Yuuri close; nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder. “You know what would happen. I told you I needed you to understand.”

 

Yuuri went quiet. Noticed the car beginning to roll off the curb and out into the street, hopefully toward home. What was there to say? That he couldn’t condone Victor’s plan, even if having him arrested would directly lead to terrorist attacks in Tokyo? He could take down Victor, sure, but he was hardly alone; there was an entire organization behind him, ready to send out a replacement the moment Victor failed.

 

Yuuri gulped. Felt something in his chest drop, as he held his captor closer in his arms. “I know. I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy, I was so excited about this chapter!!! I really wanted to stress the imagery this time, especially of the overwhelming money Victor's organization has behind him. That said, onto some clarifications of the text in-chapter: 
> 
> “Don’t touch me, bastard.”  
> “Do you understand French?” in French, and in German, “German?” 
> 
> *A lot of this translation is… Not the best. I took French in high school, and even now just sticking with really simple vocabulary, but I just used Google translate for the Japanese. If anyone knows how to properly translate “Don’t touch me, bastard,” I would love to know!
> 
> **https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalashnikov_rifle  
> ***http://modernfirearms.net/grenade/rus/rgs-50m-e.html


	7. Bobbing For Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual content in this chapter. This is in the Explicit tag for a reason, and the reason's finally cropping up!

They were silent the whole ride back; Yuuri just stayed close to Victor, closing his eyes and doing his damnedest to reconcile what he’d just been subjected to with Victor’s explanation. 

 

Of course he couldn’t do anything-- incarcerating Victor would just end in him getting replaced by some more volatile mobster, and then the whole group would be right back where they started, and… 

 

Oh, god, the Organized Crime Unit. Everyone there had been working so hard to gather evidence, leads, and-- 

 

And here Yuuri was, sitting in his captor’s car, growing more complacent by the  _ second _ . He used to claim some sort of moral standing whenever he’d compare himself with members of the Kodo-kai and local yakuza; he’d thought he was somehow better than them. That he was doing what he could to stop the endangerment of human life. 

 

Back in his side of the car, body crushed up against the door, Yuuri put his head in his hands and allowed the guilt to wash over him for awhile. There was nothing he could do. He was no better than the man across the seat from him, and--

 

Yuuri pressed the palms of his hands against his eye sockets, the pain of it grounding him. No. No, there had to be something. He’d always been able to figure something out for himself, even in the worst of situations. He wouldn’t just-- just lie there and let himself bleed again. 

 

He turned. Looked at Victor, who was sat comfortably reclined in his seat, tapping away on his phone as if this were as quotidien as could be. “There has to be some way out of this, though,” Yuuri offered, staring over at his counterpart on the other side of the car. “You’re in a position to ruin this whole syndicate. Have them all arrested. All you’d have to do is--” 

 

“Is take down every single member of member of the Council of Ministers related to the syndicate; take down the Prime Minister and his familial and business relations; take down the President himself.” Victor ran a hand through his hair, loosening his tie and tipping his head back. “Anything short of that would get me assassinated, honey.”

 

Still. There had to be  _ something _ , just… “But--” 

 

“ _ But _ ,” Victor spat back, clearly tired of this topic, “Our syndicate runs half the oil production and export, Yuuri; it runs the majority of steel and aluminum, and honey, that’s what this economy runs on in terms of international trade. We’ve got a monopoly on military product exports, chemicals, wood… Our economy’s already in a recession, and even accounting for current income inequality-- take out the people at the top organizing the whole mess, and unemployment can go from eight percent to thirty.” Yuuri was just about to open his mouth again, when Victor cut in, “And that’s a conservative estimate. Even if I could take down the whole thing, there’d hardly be any infrastructure to replace it, would there?” He laughed, covering his eyes with his hand, and went quiet.* 

 

The silence stretched on for awhile. Yuuri looked outside. Watched the lights blur by. “And that doesn’t even account for the way the economy works here--” Victor paused. Looked at Yuuri as he turned back to face him, something changing in his face. “I just…” Victor bit his lips and looked down at the leather of the seat. “I know you mean the best, Yuuri. I do. But there are innocent people relying on this side of the market, too.” 

 

Yuuri crossed his arms. “That doesn’t mean this is right.” 

 

Victor cracked a smile, reaching across the worlds-long distance of the car seat between them. Yuuri felt Victor’s fingers brush his cheek. “It’s convenient, isn’t it? Living as if the world is black and white, when really…” Delicately, Victor pinched Yuuri’s chin between his fingers and thumbs, leaning forward as if for a kiss, “It’s so much more than that. It’s all a big gray area, isn’t it? Not just black or white, some collection of binaries-- morality  _ swims _ .”

 

Victor stopped talking. All Yuuri could hear was the sound of tires rolling on the road; his own breathing. He stared at Victor’s eyelashes, long and white and brushing his cheekbones. Tears puddled up in his eyes again, because-- because-- 

 

Victor was right. There was nothing he could do that wouldn’t hurt anyone, here or back in Japan. He pulled back. Turned away, wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his suit. He’d thought he was powerless before-- now even if he made it back, he’d be trapped in this-- this--  _ this _ . He couldn’t get out from under Victor’s thumb; he couldn’t stop him. 

 

All he could do was feel bits of himself chip away: his morality. His dedication to protecting civilians, no matter the personal cost. “Oh, Yuuri,” Victor cooed, voice soft-- “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

 

It shouldn’t have been comforting, feeling Victor’s arms wrap around his shoulder. Feeling the quick press of lips to his forehead. Hearing the soft mutterings of what had to be comforting nothings in Russian. A part of him knew it would be best to hit him, scream and cry and push him away until he returned home to take Victor to the proper authorities. The rest of him… The rest of him knew there was no point. He’d only make things so much worse for so many people. 

 

All Yuuri could do was lean into Victor’s chest and close his eyes.  

  
  


___

 

Victor was careful, opening the car door for Yuuri and escorting him into his apartment building with a hand on the small of his back. He was almost sweet, hailing an elevator with his free hand, using the other to hold Yuuri close. 

 

Guilty as he was, Yuuri… Couldn’t help but appreciate it. He was tired. In so many ways, he was tired; he was tired of this constant roller-coaster of not knowing what was coming next. He was tired of listening to idle discussion in a smoke-filled room; he was tired of being watched like an animal in a zoo. 

 

If nothing else, at least Victor didn’t act any differently from when he was ‘Alexei’ back in Japan: the more he relaxed into this evident new role, the more soft little smiles he’d get. The more sweet glances he’d find Victor in his peripheral vision, and that… Yuuri gulped down the guilt and leaned into Victor the moment they stepped into the elevator. Within the span of a day, he’d lost so much of himself. He could almost feel himself being pulled down into this awful quagmire that was Victor’s world, Victor’s social circle, Victor’s  _ mind _ . Under what circumstances would he otherwise find condoning a mob syndicate’s encroachment into Japan anything short of reprehensible? The guilt was choking him. 

 

Standing on his own two feet in an elevator, Yuuri felt himself drown. 

 

“It’s okay,” Victor whispered against Yuuri’s hairline, “Shh. Everything’s alright. I’m right here.” He felt a hand rubbing his back. A pair of lips kiss at his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut in response and let himself be pulled under. 

 

Soon enough, the elevator doors opened. Victor took Yuuri’s hand and led him down the hallway to the right apartment; Yuuri watched as Victor took out his keys and carefully opened the door. Watched as Makkachin jumped onto Victor’s chest and very nearly knocked him down. “Whoa there, buddy!” he shouted with a smile, petting his dog and calming him down. “Did Evgenia give you your dinner and walkies?” he grinned, rubbing the dog’s ears and turning to Yuuri. “Come in?” 

 

“Do I have a choice?” Yuuri shot back with a smile. It felt fragile on his face, just shaky enough for his thoughts to show through. 

 

“I can order you a hotel room, if you want,” Victor shrugged, turning back to give his dog a kiss. “You do. Have a choice, that is.” 

 

Yuuri closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Only now Victor gave him a choice, then? Finally playing the role of the perfect host? He bit his lip, running a hand through his hair. He could have a hotel room to himself; call up the nearest embassy, call his friends and family, tell them where he was and that he was safe. 

 

Yuuri looked up at his effective imprisoner, clenching his hands into fists. He couldn’t do that, anymore-- not when he knew what the consequences would be. “No,” he answered, voice weak, “I’ll stay.” 

 

With a smile, Victor stepped out of the way; spread his arms and welcomed Yuuri to his flat. “I can set up a room for you, if you want--” 

 

“No.” It came out before Yuuri could stop it-- no, he couldn’t be alone with himself. Not now. He was already struggling with himself-- alone, the guilt would swallow him whole. And Victor had been accommodating so far… He gripped Victor’s sleeve, cheeks red, eyes on the floor. “Let me stay with you tonight.” 

 

He knew what he looked like. He might as well have been a child just woken up from a nightmare. Yuuri almost wanted to laugh-- the comparison was apt, if only he could wake up from it. 

 

“Okay. Yeah.” Victor was quick to agree, pulling Yuuri in for a quick hug before pulling away. “Let’s go to bed.” 

 

Yuuri followed. Victor stripped out of his clothes, delicately hanging his blazer and shirt up in his closet; Yuuri followed suit, letting his clothes pool on the ground until he was clad in nothing but underwear. He stared down at the floor awhile while Victor sat down on his bed. He could feel eyes on his back. “Come to bed?” Yuuri did as told. He just… Slipped beneath the sheets. Felt the coolness of the fabric on his legs. It was almost as if he were on autopilot, body moving before his brain caught up to him. He laid down on his side. Felt Victor’s arm snake around his side, paired with hot breath at his ear-- “I’ve wanted this for ages.” 

 

“Yeah?” Yuuri asked, eyes adjusting to the darkness. In another life, sure, he’d fantasized, but-- well. That was Alexei. 

 

“Yeah.” Victor pulled Yuuri’s body in for a hug. “Doing dinner and watching movies with you-- just relaxing with you, Yuuri, those little moments were the highlights of my week. Like a little escape…” he trailed off, nuzzling into the nape of Yuuri’s neck. 

 

A little escape. Yuuri felt his mouth twitch-- what he wouldn’t do for that right about then. He rolled onto his back. Looked at Victor. Watched the little slits of light filtering in through the venetian blinds of his room drape over his face; watched the way they clung to every contour of his face. A little escape. His eyelashes were so  _ long _ . 

 

“...Yuuri?” Victor asked, eyes open. “Everything alright?” 

 

He stayed quiet. Looked at the little puddles of moonlight reflected in Victor’s eyes. “No,” He answered honestly, “It’s not.”  _ A little escape _ . 

 

Before Victor had the time to formulate a response, Yuuri brought his hands up to the sides of Victor’s face and crushed their lips together. 

 

Thankfully, Victor was quick on the uptake: after only a moment or two of stunned silence, he wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s waist and pulled him closer, biting his lower lip-- “ah,” Yuuri heard himself yelp, shocked at the pain. He didn’t have the time to get distracted by it, however; Victor sucked on it as if in apology, hands wandering along his back, and-- oh.  _ Oh.  _ This was what he needed, just a little bit of distraction from himself. Yuuri looped his arms around Victor’s neck; felt the little frissons of electricity run down his spine at the touch of another human being. Listened to the wet smacks of their lips together, sloppy and rushed and frantic. Yuuri sucked on Victor’s tongue, something stirring low in his stomach when heard a  _ moan _ from him. 

 

Quickly, though, the tables turned: panting, Victor extricated himself from Yuuri’s arms and rolled on top of him, bracing Yuuri’s head with his arms and returning for more. Yuuri felt fingers card through his hair; eyelashes brushing across his cheeks. The warmth of another man’s skin. He had to look away when the stirring in his stomach became something more, prick slowly growing heavy. 

 

Victor had the presence of mind to pull back, wiping his hair out of his face and pulling one of Yuuri’s hands to his mouth as he asked, voice rough, “How far do you want this to go?” He mouthed along Yuuri’s fingers, down to the back of his hand; suckled on the skin of his wrist. Just barely, Yuuri could make out a dazed glint in Victor’s eye. 

 

Yuuri was surprised by the breathlessness in his voice when he gasped, “I don’t know.” 

 

Victor’s mouth paused. His eyes slid down Yuuri’s face to his collarbone. “Okay. We go at your pace.” 

 

Yuuri brought his hands around Victor’s neck and dragged him back down. They continued that way for awhile: kissing. Feeling the softness of Victor’s hair; of the skin on his back. Sure, the feeling in his stomach had outright developed into an erection, but… 

 

Victor pulled back, sliding one hand down Yuuri’s front. Down over the hills and valleys of his abdomen, ribcage and abdominal muscles obscured by the low light. He was slow, pulling his hand lower. Slow, fingers sneaking beneath the waistband of Yuuri’s boxers. Slow, brushing through pubic hair, fingers and thumbs spreading, winding around-- 

 

Yuuri hissed. God. It had been so long.  _ So long _ . The last time he’d been intimate with, oh, anyone had been in training for the Special Assault Team, and that was years ago. He bucked his hips into Victor’s hands. Covered his mouth with the back of his own hand, eyes squeezing shut. Oh, god. “I’ll go slow,” Victor whispered, Voice rough. “I’ve got you, Yuuri.” 

 

And Victor did as he’d promised: he dragged his fingers up Yuuri’s prick with a calculated slowness, every second of it shattering his patience. Slowly, he worked his way up Yuuri’s cock; just as slowly, he worked back down. It was maddening-- it was just a handjob, sure, but after how long Yuuri had gone without, it-- it-- “ _ Yes _ ,” he whispered, bucking his hips again. “Don’t stop-- faster. Please.” 

 

Faintly, Yuuri heard a huff of breath that couldn’t be anything but laughter. “Anything you want,” Victor answered, leaning down to speak right in Yuuri’s ear. If he arched his back in response, well, he could chalk it up to how sensitive he was right then. 

 

But then Victor sped up, and Yuuri-- well, Yuuri might have been overstimulated: all it took was a few rough strokes, and he-- he-- oh,  _ god _ , it felt so good-- “Alexei,  _ fuck _ \--” 

 

He came in his underwear. Victor looked him in the eyes as he pulled his hand out from it, and, without a moment’s hesitation-- lapped at every drop of come on his hand as if it were some kind of delicacy.

 

Given that he’d just received a hand job, he didn’t expect to feel embarrassed, but-- “Victor, actually,” Victor corrected with a smile, dragging his tongue up his forearm to catch a stray droplet of ejaculate. He rolled off of Yuuri and back onto his side, eyes on Yuuri’s face as he slid his own hand down his body and-- 

 

Yuuri gulped, transfixed. The slats of light on Victor’s body made him look ethereal, somehow-- he looked… There were no words. Draped in darkness and little else, the sight froze him to the spot. 

 

“I’ve been interested in you for ages, Yuuri,” Victor smiled, head thrown back and turned at Yuuri, even as his hand ventured further down; even as his hand snuck under the waistband of his own underwear. “I’d lay in my bed at night and think about something like this,” he admitted, grasping his cock and-- in the darkness Yuuri couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if Victor was stroking himself off, smiling sleepy-eyed in Yuuri’s direction. “I had you in countless scenarios,” he panted, “Seeing you happy. Sated. Making you feel good.” 

 

It was such a simple sentence, but the idea sounded so  _ good.  _ Yuuri rolled onto his side, cushioning his head with his hand as Victor brought himself off. He licked his lips, one hand coming out from under his chin. Victor had already done this for him; it couldn’t hurt to reciprocate. 

 

Slowly, he brought his hand forward; slowly, he slid it underneath the fabric of Victor’s boxers. Gripped it softly in his hand-- felt the length of it. The girth. Yuuri gulped, the back of his mind wondering just how it would feel elsewhere. 

 

Slowly, he moved his hand up Victor’s shaft-- until Victor placed his hand on Yuuri’s guiding him. Just right. “Fuck,” he hissed, something in his underwear growing distinctly wetter. If Yuuri looked carefully, he could almost make out a wet spot. “Yes, Yuuri-- god, it’s so good.” Well-- it seemed that Yuuri wasn’t the only one who was pent up, going by Victor’s reactions: he twitched and flinched and sighed with every miniscule movement of Yuuri’s hand, and the sensation of having Victor like this-- leaking from his cock and twitching from, well, the rest of him-- it felt good. For the first time since coming here, Yuuri felt as if he might have the upper hand. 

 

“Does it feel good, Al-- Victor?” Yuuri asked, outright ignoring Victor’s ministrations, otherwise guiding him-- no, instead he rubbed his thumb along the head of Victor’s cock, smearing pre-come all along it. 

 

Victor just arched his back and sighed, looking almost  _ pained _ . “So good, Yuuri-- oh, my god.  _ So good _ .” Seeing Victor squirm like this. Seeing Victor finally the one who was under  _ his  _ thumb-- it didn’t feel bad. Yuuri guessed he could even get used to it, watching as the muscles in his abdomen twitched. As Victor’s breathing grew more ragged, his hands beginning to shake; his prick leaking harder, twitching in Yuuri’s hand. He was getting close now, Yuuri knew: he was hardly some blushing virgin. 

 

“There you go,” Yuuri whispered, gently working Victor off-- he wouldn’t tease, not now. Instead, he just pulled at him, delicately, gently, squeezing him tight on the way back down. It was three or four more strokes before Yuuri watched Victor’s jaw tense and felt a thick spurt of come on his hand. They stayed there for a good few minutes, panting. Drowsily looking off into space, before Victor got up, “to grab a wet towel,” as he explained.

 

Cleanup was quick enough; falling asleep, at least for Yuuri, was even quicker. Little escapes, indeed.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally living up to its explicit rating! I'd been thinking about this last scene for ages, but only as I got to actually writing it did I figure out the logistics. I hope Yuuri's jump from being distant to clingy made sense? Haha, I tried to make it as natural as possible; and, trust me, his feelings are going to evolve in the future-- especially when he's back in Tokyo! That's all I can give for spoilers-- and, as always, thank you so, so much for reading, giving kudos, and commenting! When I write my chapters I go through all the comments to motivate me, haha!
> 
>  
> 
> *https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/rs.html Quick note, the claims that I’m making about the mob running various industries is fiction on my part; while I looked up the basics of Russian exports for this, I have no idea whatsoever about the intricacies of corruption within the government and it pertaining to Russia’s main exports, and the ‘30% estimate’ is totally made up by me. All I did was throw in some facts along with my bullshit to make it seem more plausible. 
> 
> That said, as of 2016 the (possibly biased and possibly intentionally misleading, because CIA) CIA factbook claims that the Russian unemployment rate is that of 8.2%-- which I think technically counts as a recession, given that the American “great recession” of 2008 had us with an unemployment rate of about 10% for awhile, and that the “average” unemployment rate for healthy economy is 4% (allowing for fluctuation). And Victor talking about a 30% unemployment rate is pretty huge-- the Great Depression was marked by an average 25% unemployment rate if memory serves, and given that it’s a major part of American history, we can assume that a 30% unemployment rate would be pretty crushing for local infrastructure. That said, I’m not an economics major (I’m a politics major and only know a lil’ bit about the Russian and Japanese governments, lmao), so if any economists are reading, feel free to correct me!


	8. Pulled Down

Yuuri was swimming in soft sheets and the warmth of another body next to him. An arm looped over his waist. The scent of Alexei, safe and sweet and always there for him. Warm. Good. Safe. _Alexei_ . A part of him woke up when he remembered-- no, not Alexei. The arm over his waist felt constrictive; Yuuri began to squirm. He needed out. Victor. It was-- no, he needed-- he had to get out. _Victor_ . Yuuri was swiftly reminded of last night when he looked down at himself, felt at his underwear; the interior was crusty, scratching at his oversensitive groin. Oh, god. Oh, _fuck_. They’d-- Yuuri sat up, running a frantic hand through his hair, looking down at his bedmate. Victor looked like the cat that had caught the canary, content and smug and eyelids fluttering as he woke up.

 

Half of Yuuri noted how beautiful he looked like this. The other half of him was mortified by himself, steeped in shame. “I-- I need to get up,” Yuuri stuttered, tumbling out of the bed. He stood there for a moment, watching Victor prop himself up and look at Yuuri with a smug smirk on his face-- for the umpteenth time, Yuuri wanted to punch him. “What?”

 

“You were good, last night,” Victor smiled, sleepy-eyed and yawning. “It was fun.”

 

“When does the plane take off?” Yuuri snapped right back. What had he done? He was completely sober, nothing inhibiting him, and yet he _still_ had to jack off his kidnapper. His heart hammered in his chest; he could feel his breathing accelerate. He just needed to get out of there, back to somewhere normal. Back to safety.

 

“At eight, Yuuri,” Victor groaned, reclining back before popping up to clarify, “At night. We have plenty of time.”

 

Plenty of time. Fine. _Fine._ He could deal with this. Sure, he didn’t _want_ plenty of time; his scant few days here had already changed him enough, lead him to _give his kidnapper a handjob_ , eschewing every moral fiber of his being-- he could manage. He was fine.

 

Yuuri almost wanted to laugh; panic rose in his chest; what had he become? “I-- I need t-to get some food,” he called, walking out of the bedroom-- and turning back for his clothes. Screw that he had worn them yesterday. Screw the discomfort of his stiff underwear-- screw it all. He wasn’t going to be half naked for a single second longer. Quickly, he changed into his clothes, noticing only as he tried to button his shirt that his hands were shaking. Oh, were they shaking: he could barely get one button through its hole, and even when he did, it was the wrong hole to button through. “Shit,” he gritted out in a whisper, “Come on, come on--”

 

“Yuuri,” Victor called out to him, voice muffled-- looking up, Yuuri found his face stuffed into his pillow. “Come back to bed. We can get food in a bit. It’s only--” he lifted his head and glanced at his clock, “It’s only eight, baby. We have twelve hours.”

 

Twelve hours. He had to last through another twelve hours of this. How long had he been awake? How many seconds had ticked excruciatingly by? He let out a shaky breath and, ignoring the rest of his buttons, pulled on his blazer. He needed out. He needed to get out of there, get the _fuck_ out of there, and get home to where everything made _sense_.

 

He walked out the door and into the living room. He took shaky little breaths, doing his damnedest to get himself back _in control_ . He could feel the anxiety building, his whole body ramping up for a panic attack; he felt as if he were walking in a fog, and he _knew_ he was disassociating. But-- oh, god. What had he _done_ ? Who even was he anymore? Yuuri leaned against the window he’d nearly escaped out of, feeling more trapped than ever. He had just been willing to risk falling down twenty-some stories to get away from Victor, and now he’d gone and _slept with him_ . Yuuri pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Felt the pressure on his eyes. Pushed harder, just to feel it more, just to absolve himself _somehow_ of this, and nothing helped. Nothing helped at all.

 

He’d betrayed his friends. He’d betrayed everyone he knew and loved, compromised every moral he’d claimed to have, and-- and-- “Yuuri,” called Victor’s voice from the bedroom. Yuuri turned around; saw him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame of it. “Do you want to talk about th--”

 

“No.” No, he didn’t want to _talk about this_. He had slept with the man directly responsible for increased arms sales in Japan, and who knew what else. “Just-- leave me alone, okay? We just have the flight to wait for, and--”

 

“There’s another outfit in the bag in the kitchen. Put it on,” Victor ordered. His voice brooked no disagreement, neutral and calm in a way that reminded him of last night’s dinner. “We’ll go out one last time, okay? Just somewhere fun.”

 

Victor never specified what “fun” was, but Yuuri changed and made himself presentable anyway. He was ready in thirty minutes, having showered and brushed his teeth, and he found Victor-- dressed and ready to go, a bag of hanging from his wrist. “Ready?” he asked, as Yuuri tied his shoes and stood up, straightening his black jeans.

 

Of course he wasn’t ready. Yuuri had been gearing up for a full-blown panic attack not a half hour before. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice. “Yeah,” he sighed, walking to the door, and, glancing Victor’s way, walking right out of the apartment. He wasn’t some pet-- he wouldn’t follow Victor around, regardless of his current position. He could have sworn he’d heard Victor snort a little laugh.

 

___

 

The drive was short; Yuuri ate his breakfast on the car ride to their mystery destination, swiping bagel crumbs off his pants the whole way; he stared out the window of the car and pressed himself close to the door; as far as his captor as possible.

 

“We’re here,” Victor pointed out, stepping out of the car and walking around the length of it-- pulling open Yuuri’s door. “Ready?”

 

“For what, exactly?” Yuuri griped, stepping out regardless and crossing his arms. He was tired of this. Tired of Victor’s pace, tired of not having a choice. “When’ll we be done here?”

 

“In an hour, tops,” Victor promised right back, pulling Yuuri’s hand into his and walking toward a nondescript building. It was concrete, windowless, flat; a perfect building for skipping a flight altogether and having Yuuri killed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, steeled himself, and followed Victor inside. The moment he was in, he wanted to turn around and walk right back out. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Victor offered with a smile, placing his hand on the small of Yuuri’s back. “And private-- we can take however long we want.”

 

It was an empty shooting range, and Yuuri had never wanted to throttle Victor more. “You’re not serious,” he choked out, almost laughing-- Victor couldn’t be this cruel. He _knew_ about Yuuri’s PTSD. He knew what Yuuri had been through, and yet he still dragged him down to this hellhole. “I can’t--”

 

“You can,” Victor shot back, entirely unaffected. The hand at Yuuri’s back grew more insistent by the second, pushing Yuuri along to the nearest stall. “You always could. You’ve always been capable, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri did his damnedest to pull away. To just-- get out of Victor’s grip and get out of the whole building. Despite the rooms being spacious enough, he felt claustrophobic; the ceiling could fall in on him at any time. “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he spat, when an employee came up to them and offered Yuuri a small black handgun.

 

“Take it,” Victor ordered, voice soft. He didn’t come any closer to Yuuri; he at least gave Yuuri his space. But-- but-- he _couldn’t_. Not after having seen what it was capable of first hand. Not after having felt a bullet, hot out of the barrel, tear through his skin. He knew the aftershock of violence now-- he knew the physio, the psychologist visits, the jolts of fear that ran through him whenever something crashed too loud, too fast. He couldn’t. Victor took it out of the employee’s hand in his stead. Took Yuuri’s hand. Pried it open. Put the gun in his hand. Yuuri felt himself shake. “It’s loaded, Yuuri,” Victor cooed, slowly entering Yuuri’s personal space. Slowly wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “There’s plenty of headgear in the stall. Put one on, Yuuri.”

 

He could _tell_ he was disassociating. All he could do was set the gun down on the little counter of the stall and pull a pair of muffs over his ears. All he could do was watch as Victor did the same, before he settled his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders. He knew what he had to do. He knew he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t-- he couldn’t--

 

 _He couldn’t do this._ Not again.

 

The first missed the paper target entirely. The next was another failure. Victor’s hands squeezed his shoulders just a little harder during every recoil. He couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of his heartbeat. The ringing in his ears. He was going to die here. He was going to bleed out in Roppongi and he could do nothing about it. Tears welled up in his eyes. He gulped in whatever air he could. He was going to die.

 

A hand gently pulled one muff away from Yuuri’s ear. “Breathe, Yuuri. You’re in control, now. No one’s shooting at you. It’s just you and me and the target. No one else.” His hearing grew muffled again, and he felt the muff cup around his ear. Yuuri gulped. Gripped the gun hard. Shot.

 

And shot. _And shot_. He felt himself grow comfortable in the old position-- shoulders squared, eyes forward, arm straight but loose, not too straight. He shot. It was an out of body experience, feeling the impact of the bullet on the target from some forty meters away. It punched through the paper like a hot knife through butter, but still the paper recoiled; jumped back. Fell forward. Yuuri shot until the magazine ran out, taking heaving breaths when he pulled the trigger and only felt a familiar click. Had he forgotten to breathe? He turned around, finding Victor offering up another magazine; Yuuri took it, unloaded and reloaded the gun. Pulled it close to his body, ready to extend his arms and shoot. He aimed at Victor, only several feet away.

 

It would be a clean shot. He would hit right between the eyes. Blood and brain matter would splatter against the wall. Yuuri could see it: the smug half-smile on Victor’s face, the confidence in his eyes-- all of it pooled on the floor, nothing but skin and bone and blood. It would be so easy. A desperate little bid for freedom in a country that wasn’t his own. A split second of revenge for the days of misery he had been put through. Yuuri put his finger on the trigger.

 

Victor said something-- it didn’t get through the muffs, but his lips moved. Gun-arm still out and ready, Yuuri pulled back his non-dominant hand and pulled his muffs off, dropping them around his neck. “What?”

 

“You can, if you want. You already know the consequences, Yuuri, but you’re in control now.” Victor stayed still. Made no attempt to run. Only looked Yuuri in the eyes as if he knew Yuuri’s next move. “I took that from you, didn’t I? Your autonomy. Your will as a person. I know what I’ve done, Yuuri. You have control over the situation. I wouldn’t like to be killed, surely, but I won’t do something as low as to beg.” Yuuri returned his left hand to stance and gripped harder on the gun. “You’re your own man. I’ve always known that. Do what you have to.” Victor didn’t close his eyes. Victor didn’t flinch, or put his hands up, or do anything but stare at Yuuri, cool and calm and collected, and--

 

“You’re not human,” Yuuri gritted out, teeth bared, steeling himself. Aiming right between the eyes. “Nothing and no one matters to you. I’ve got your life in my hands, and you’re not even _bothered_.”

 

Nothing Yuuri said elicited a response. Victor stayed quiet. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stayed so awfully neutral, as if this were nothing but a game-- Yuuri shot. The bullet landed a good yard away from Victor’s shoulder, debri hitting his jacket hard. Thank god Victor flinched, covering his chest with his hand and looking outright shocked. While the debris settled (the employee stayed stock still at his desk near the entrance, not daring to make a move), Victor ran a hand through his hair, panting. He looked pale. Shaken. “I didn’t think you’d do that,” he admitted, pulling off his muffs and kicking at little chunks of concrete. Looking closely, Yuuri could almost make out rebar. The gun had a hell of a kick.

 

Setting it down, Yuuri took off his muffs entirely and leveled a glare at his captor. “But you were fine with being killed?”

 

“I was positive you wouldn’t do that,” Victor retorted with a grin, and just for the satisfaction of it, Yuuri picked up his gun and leveled it at Victor’s brow one more time. “Well-- not so positive now.”

 

Something in Yuuri felt-- satisfied. Content. _Good_. He was dangerous. Victor was afraid. He pulled the safety before setting his gun down for the final time. “Why a shooting range?”

 

Victor twitched a smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “A myriad of reasons,” he shrugged. “Besides, you look good. Not as… Shaky?”

 

“Wait ‘til the adrenaline wears off,” Yuuri replied, running a hand through his hair and shaking out his nerves. It had been his first time shooting a gun since Roppongi. “But-- really.”

 

Victor pulled his earmuffs off his neck and tossed it to the ground, ignoring the loud clatter from impact. He just walked up to Yuuri, and kept walking until he was well and truly in his personal space. Slowly, he dragged one finger up from Yuuri’s throat to his chin. Slowly, he rubbed his thumb along Yuuri’s jawline. Yuuri only looked down and gulped, silently hoping Victor wouldn’t notice the move. “I’d always known you were capable, Yuuri. Dangerous, even. Fearsome, terrifying, _lethal_. I knew all of those things-- I’d looked at what you had done. In training, on the Special Assault Team. I just…” Victor’s face pressed closer. The skin of his face was all Yuuri could see, overtaking his vision entirely. “I wanted you to see it for yourself, was all.” He pressed a quick kiss to Yuuri’s lips, lingering just a moment before pulling away. “Besides, check the target. You’re quite the shot.”

 

Yuuri turned around and noticed-- Jesus. Was that his work? There were a few outliers, but most of the shots were solid-- head, heart, chest area. Sure, he’d been a crack shot back in training, but he’d thought he’d lost it all. “Thank you,” he finally answered, turning back and crossing his arms. “Are we done here, then? I’d rather not stay for much longer.” Already, he could feel himself growing uncomfortable, antsy-- he’d much prefer the comparative comfort of Victor’s apartment, especially if Makkachin welcomed him back.

 

“We’re done,” Victor grinned back, turning and walking back to the door without another thought. Yuuri followed with a roll of his eyes, and, once back in the car, settled in. So far, so good. “Better?” Victor asked. Yuuri wasn’t huddled against the car door this time; wasn’t trying to punish himself anymore for the night before.

 

“Well enough. And if you’ve planned something else, you’re cancelling it.”

 

Victor only smiled again, scooting along the length of the seat until he could settle his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder. “I was only planning on watching a movie back at the apartment? If you’re up for it.”

 

Yuuri stared up at his captor for a moment in shock: what was this lovey-dovey atmosphere? “After I pointed a gun at you?”

 

“I told you I knew you wouldn’t shoot me.” Victor, almost with some modicum of hesitation, pressed his cheek into Yuuri’s shoulder and held him close. “Besides, you needed some sort of reassurance, and you look pretty reassured now.”

 

“Wait ‘til the next time I have a gun,” Yuuri shot back, almost affectionately, crossing his arms and looking ahead. If, for just a little while, he let Victor stay where he was-- well, this was ending soon. He’d be going home soon.

 

“Looking forward to it.”

 

Yuuri only cocked a brow and looked back to the window, staring at the scenery for what he hoped would be one of his last rides through Russia. “It could have gone either way, you know.”

 

“Hm?”

 

Yuuri closed his eyes and sighed. “You _know_ about the PTSD. It could have left me incapacitated-- I could have spiraled.” Yuuri didn’t have the energy to bother with being mad-- Victor had breached Yuuri’s trust so many times already. His expectations were already through the floor.

 

There was a good several seconds of silence. “I know it was wrong. I just-- I’ve always known how strong you are. You needed to know, too*.”

 

Yuuri pressed his body closer to the car door. The air in the car was heavy-- both of them knew his excuse wasn’t enough.

___

 

Victor was quick to unbutton his blazer as they walked into his apartment, carefully stripping it off and hanging it up in a coat closet. He took off his tie, unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt-- and he collapsed onto his couch with a long-suffering sigh. “Want to watch something? We can cuddle up, watch--”

 

“No, thank you,” Yuuri answered, falling to one knee to knead Makkachin’s face, playing with his ears. Just a little longer. Just a little more of this.

 

“Yuuuuuri,” he heard Victor whine, drawing out his name in much the same way he’d done back in Tokyo. As Alexei, it was cute-- he would ask for Yuuri’s time, for a touch of attention, for a chance to help him relax after a long day at the department. As Victor, the move made Yuuri uncomfortable. He was taking two identities and mixing them together, smearing the sense of safety and familiarity of Alexei’s presence with the overwhelming sensation of being _trapped_.

 

“What?”

 

“I want t--”

 

“Enough of what you want!” Yuuri found himself snarling, twisting back to glare in Victor’s direction. He was shocked at his own behavior, but-- but he could hardly stop himself. “All _week_ you’ve gotten what you’ve wanted. You’ve dragged me to your fucking goddamned shooting range for _what_ ? To traumatize me further? To convince yourself you’re doing something good? To alleviate your guilt?” Yuuri stalked over to the living room, picked up the nearest thing he could grab onto (a glass ashtray) and chucked it in Victor’s general direction, only feeling marginally better as it smashed against the wall. He felt his hands shake. “I’ve been a _toy_ to you this whole fucking week-- you haven’t given me a choice. About any of this. I--”

 

“I’m sorry,” Victor blurted out, sending Yuuri reeling back. He was sorry? _Sorry_? This wasn’t something he could fix with an apology-- he had-- he’d-- “I didn’t have a choice about the rest of it. But taking you to the shooting range was unnecessary, and--” Victor winced, running a hand through his hair, “It was cruel of me. I have no excuse for my behavior. I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri was speechless. He’d-- he just-- “Don’t interrupt me,” he finally managed, organizing his thoughts enough to express just what he had been put through. “You kidnapped me. You dragged me to some awful undercover dinner as a prostitute, and-- and--” Oh, no. He couldn’t cry again. Not again. “I understand your reasoning, I do, but-- but this is _wrong_ , Victor, all of it.” A familiar sting prickled at his eyes, and god _dammit_ he wasn’t going to cry again. “You-- I just--” he finally hiccupped, and slowly but surely he felt tears forming in his eyes. “You’re not the Alexei I knew. He was-- he was better than this. He wasn’t some creep who’d kidnap people, he didn’t-- he didn’t do this. He didn’t do any of this.”

 

He missed Alexei. He missed the safety. He missed the tranquil friendliness, the soft support, the chatty excitement. The comfortable feeling Yuuri had around him; the effortless way he carried himself; his heart-shaped smile. Hot and fat, he felt tears stream down his cheeks. “He was so much better than this. Than you. He never forced me into anything. He was sweet. He was-- he was--” Yuuri wiped a tear from his cheek and looked at Victor, standing tall. “He was--”

 

Victor had to interrupt again, eyes narrowed at Yuuri. Something in the way he sat put Yuuri on edge. Something in the way he stared up at Yuuri, one brow cocked and lips tipped into a hard frown. “Alexei never existed, Yuuri. It’s always been m--”

 

“I know that. I do-- but--”

 

“It’s always been me, Yuuri. No one else. There’s no alter ego, Yuuri-- I’ve been Alexei this entire time.” Victor stood up, walked (carefully past the shattered glass) and pressed both hands against Yuuri’s cheeks. “He was me. I think somewhere deep down you know that-- you can feel safe with me, Yuuri.”

 

No.

 

“I know I messed up. In so many ways, Yuuri. But-- please. It’s the same person-- you don’t have to be afraid. The moment you’re back, we can forget all about this, just-- just start over.” Victor pled in a whisper, looking so earnestly into Yuuri’s eyes that he almost wanted to give in and accept. He could just-- let himself drift along the current of Victor’s decisions, let himself be pulled left and right. He could. He _could_.

 

“I-- I need to go home, first,” Yuuri answered, hands on Victor’s own. “I can’t. At least not until I’m back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last day! This is the last chapter to take place in Saint Petersburg, and soon Yuuri will be dealing with a whole new can of worms!
> 
> So! How did you like it? I wanted to write some fallout after the night before, plus an attempt on Victor's part to show Yuuri what he was capable of-- for better or for worse. 
> 
> And a quick note about Victor dragging Yuuri to the shooting range: 1, I have never been to a range and only really guessed about how it works; and 2, Victor was ABSOLUTELY in the wrong, dragging Yuuri to a place that would force him to effectively re-experience his trauma. Just, like-- don't do this. It is not a good idea, and the fact that Yuuri made it out (mostly and temporarily) unscathed is nothing short of a miracle.


	9. Last Glimpse of the Surface

The last hours leading up to the flight went quickly-- Yuuri sat, watched Russian television he couldn’t understand. Pet Victor’s dog, because Makkachin was hardly at fault for any of this mess. Victor had picked up the glass in silence, finally leaving Yuuri alone. It would have almost been nice, if any of this had been of his own volition.

It went quickly enough: within a scant two hours, Victor was back from his room, adjusting his cufflinks and smiling over at Yuuri. “We should get going soon,” he explained, placing his hands on his hips and just… Looking at him. The hand on Makkachin’s fur stopped-- Yuuri looked back, almost expecting some new plan for him. Whatever it was-- so long as he got home in one piece, he would be okay. Yuuri gritted his teeth. He’d be okay. “I’d hoped it would go better than this, honestly,” Victor finally frowned, glancing down at his shoes. “You know I didn’t--”

This again? “I know, Victor. I know you had expectations of me, of--” he almost said ‘of us,’ before he stopped himself. No. There was no ‘us.’ There was only kidnapping, only lies. “But none of this was real, es-especially not in Japan. None of it was.”

Victor went silent, stock still. Yuuri looked up at him, expecting-- some kind of reaction, at least. Instead he just-- stared at his shoes, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Plenty of it was real,” he bit back, shoulders tense-- Yuuri opened his mouth to answer him when Victor turned heel and stomped back to his room. “Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

___

The car ride to the airport was short; as for the flight itself, Yuuri somehow slept through a good eight of the fifteen hours, otherwise fiddling with the in-flight magazine (thankfully with an English copy) and avoiding eye contact with his seatmate. Victor only typed away at his phone, expression sour.

But it wasn’t his business. Not-- not in a personal, way, at least. Professionally, he had to find some way to stop Victor’s whole enterprise without getting his inferior-- “Yuri”-- involved. He had to find evidence, leads, connections outside of the neighbor on the floor below his apartment, and… He had to attack the whole group. Yuuri glanced at Victor, who glared down at his phone, frantically tapping at the screen. He was one head of a hydra-- take one out, it looked like, and two more would crop up. Surely there were plenty of people ready to take Victor’s place, and-- and-- shit.

No conventional police force could deal with this. This was something that stretched beyond national borders, possibly beyond whole continents. This was far beyond the scope of the Metropolitan police-- this could go all the way to the Public Security Intelligence Agency*, all the way to Naicho*. He needed to prove that this was Russian interference, first-- he needed to have evidence to take to these agencies, enough to convince them that there was and is a systematic attempt to undermine Japanese law and order. Yuuri put his head in his hands, inhaling deeply. This was an intergenerational problem, one so complex and with so many individual cells that-- oh, god. Yuuri didn’t know what to do. He looked at his seat-mate. Looked down at his lap.

For now, at least, he’d go to sleep.

It was a good decision to do so, he decided, groggily waking up to what had to be morning light over Japan. “Are we there?” Yuuri asked, voice hoarse, turning to Victor-- finding him to be out like a light. His head was tipped back; drool dribbled down his chin, and his eyelids fluttered in what had to be an REM cycle. Seeing him like this, as opposed to-- well, smiling constantly, was… Not bad, in a way. He looked innocent. Soft. Carefully-- he didn’t want to wake Victor up-- he brushed his platinum hair out of his face, looking down at him. No defenses. Nothing but… Well, him, delicate and human, and--Victor twitched, grumbling quietly, and Yuuri flinched back before he was caught.

It wasn’t-- Yuuri wasn’t in love with him. He’d been in love with a facade, he knew that well enough. This was just… With a sigh, Yuuri turned back to the window, barely recognizing the little island below. Given that they had to have flown over land… Well, it looked like he was almost home.

They landed and left the gate without a hitch; the moment he was out of the gate, though, Yuuri beelined to the exit, leaving Victor alone on his own-- no, he had to get home. He needed the comfort of his apartment; he needed to talk to Phichit and Celestino, god, why hadn’t he thought to try and contact them before?! He needed to get home, to talk, to-- to-- god, he needed to call his mom and dad. They must have been worried sick about him, all because some asshole decided to spirit him away.

He took a cab home; paid the cabbie after going inside, apologizing profusely for the inconvenience. He walked inside, ignored the sense of claustrophobia, of _beigeness_ that oozed from every wall. No, he had responsibilities to fulfill. He found his phone, out of battery on the nightstand where he had left it, and he frantically dialed his mom, close to breaking into tears by the time she picked up.

Thankfully, she was just that much more panicked-- she asked how he was. Invited him home incessantly, told him to call her before he got this bad again… In the end, Yuuri spent more time comforting his mother than anything else, telling her he was okay. It was just… A bump in the road. He was okay. Yuuri stared at his lap, phone pressed against his ear. He was okay-- he _was_. He needed to-- he needed to deal with this, sure. He couldn’t let an apparently international criminal organization encroach into his country, his jurisdiction. He wouldn’t.

He was okay because he had to be. Steeling himself, he calmed his mother down; he squeezed his eyes shut and managed to pretend as if everything were alright. He talked her through Hasetsu; through Mari, through dad, through silly guests and katsudon and her recent stint at crochet. He listened and prodded and asked, and by the time he was done with his phone call, a part of him almost felt at peace.

But he still had to call Phichit (not to mention his boss and HR), and he was better than his mother at seeing through Yuuri’s lies. Yuuri braced himself, finally hitting Phi’s name in his contact list.

It only took two rings for the call to connect. “Yuuri! Oh my god. Are you okay?”

Phi sounded more panicked than expected. Yuuri frowned, narrowing his eyes as he answered, “Yeah, I just… Had a bit of a mental health spill. Really, I’m alright--”

“Okay. Okay, that’s what matters. I, um.” Phichit went quiet, a sigh crackling through the speaker of his phone. “I know you need to rest right now, but… Can I come over to yours?”

Oh. Well. “Okay,” Yuuri answered, running a hand through his hair and checking the time, “I just…” He was exhausted. Too much had happened within the last week, and couldn’t-- there was no way to adjust back to being home.

But Phichit, being Phichit, had to push. “I know I’m asking a lot, but please? We need to talk.”

Fine. _Fine_ . He’d given enough over the last week, hadn’t he? What was one more concession? “Sure,” Yuuri bit out, ending the call. In retrospect, he should have at least given the courtesy of saying goodbye, but-- but-- _god_. He was already so exhausted. Frayed at the edges. Yuuri looked down at his hands, just about ready to raise them to his face.

They were shaking.

Yuuri swallowed the panic when he buzzed Phi in. There was no way he could know. Sure, Phi wasn’t an interrogator, but they’d both watched enough interrogations to know what a lie looked like, and besides-- Phi knew his ticks. Yuuri felt his hands shake harder, and gripped them into fists. No. This was nothing compared to the constant background panic that had lingered in the back of his mind back in Russia: he was home. He was… Yuuri looked around his apartment, small and artless and so unlike Victor’s real apartment that he felt dizzy. Only some seventeen hours before, he’d been across national borders. He had crossed a sea.

He was back home, in what should have felt like his territory. He was supposed to feel _safe_ again. Instead, all that registered was the knowledge that Victor was only a floor below him, possibly having bugged his apartment.

Yuuri took a deep breath. No. He couldn’t-- he needed to keep himself together, right now. He had to-- he needed-- that was the doorbell.

With a smile, Yuuri reached for the door and welcomed Phichit into his apartment with open arms. Phi took full advantage of the invitation, toppling him over and holding him tight. “Oh my god, Yuuri-- I’m so glad you’re okay, Jesus Christ.”

“I was in a hospital, Phi-- you can’t get much safer than that,” Yuuri lied, hoping the discomfort in his face didn’t get through to his friend.

It must not have worked, because Phichit pulled back and looked at Yuuri as if he had grown a second head. “Yeah, I-- I wanted to talk to you about that, um.” He paused, took a deep breath, and continued, “You must have been really rattled-- you didn’t even put anyone down as an emergency contact.”

Oh. Had Phichit tried to contact him…? “Oh, yeah, I… You know, I was worried for myself, a bit frazzled,” Yuuri explained, looking away. Was his floor always that grimy?

Phichit was gentle as he tilted Yuuri’s head back upright, forcing Yuuri to look him in the eyes. “I called, Yuuri. I mean-- I was worried, I wondered if I could try and do something to adjust the contact information, right?”

From the look in his eyes, Yuuri guessed Phi was expecting a sign that Yuuri was listening. “Yeah?”

“And I think I was rerouted to a different number.”

Wait. “What?” Yuuri was the one to pull back this time, brows knit as he waited for further explanation. What had Victor done?

“I mean, there were a few iffy sounds, and then the next person I was talking to had, like, a really thick accent. I was speaking Japanese, I mean, and-- I’m not saying that there aren’t people here where Japanese isn’t their second language, but I mean…” Phi took a breath, glancing down. “I mean, even the connection was shoddy, especially for a hospital. It was like… There was a lot of interference, you know?”

“Uh huh?”

“So I called from a public phone, right? And, let me tell you, those’re hard to find-- but anyway.” Phichit took Yuuri by the shoulders and squeezed. “This time there was no interference, it was, like, a lot more professional-- I asked if they’d taken my calls before, and they said no, right?”

Oh. _Shit_. Yuuri could feel the blood drain from his place. “And?”

Something changed in  Phichit’s eyes. “They said there was no one with the name Katsuki Yuuri in their records. I mean, this could be a privacy thing, but I--”

“I’m sure it was a privacy thing,” Yuuri took the bait and ran with it, desperation creeping up his neck. “You could hardly prove you’re an officer, let alone a friend of mine-- I’m sure they were just… I don’t know, protecting me from some potential stalker.” Oh, god. What was he saying? He had never lied to Phichit-- they told one another everything. Still-- he couldn’t stop the words spilling out of his mouth. “And maybe the interception was some creep trying to get your c-cr-credit card information, you know? Like, chancing it? Who knows?”

Oh, god. He was _lying_ , to Phichit, even. Who was he, anymore? What was going on? A shiver ran up his spine-- he couldn’t-- Phichit was seeing right through him. Phichit knew. He was going to be arrested. He was going to spend his life in-- in prison, and he couldn’t… Oh, _god._

“Yuuri.” Phichit’s voice cut into his panic spiral like a knife. His hands rubbed along Yuuri’s shoulders, soothing and warm, and-- so much of him wanted to just collapse into Phichit’s arms. “Shh. Everything’s okay. You’re alright, buddy. Can you talk to me? What happened?”

What happened? _What happened_ ? How could anyone believe him? How could-- how could-- how-- he hiccupped air before he could stop himself, tears already prickling at his eyes, and god _dammit_ he couldn’t cry again. He’d be fine. He needed to be fine. He couldn’t-- he--

He leaned onto Phichit’s shoulder and cried, gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

Softly, Phi asked, “Were you at a hospital?”

Yuuri shook his head, gripping harder-- he couldn’t tell. There was so much riding on this secrecy, and Phichit just didn’t know. Didn’t understand. If he let this out, there would be bombings in the middle of Tokyo, and-- and-- the sobs wracked through him, wave after wave of them hitting.

“Can you tell me where you were, Yuuri?” Phichit asked, voice barely above a whisper.   
  
Yuuri shook his head again, and felt the hand on his back tighten.

“Were you safe? _Are_ you safe?”

Oh.

Yuuri went quiet. Limp in Phichit’s arms.

He felt his friend’s grip on him tighten until his ribs hurt.

___

There was no way Phichit could know about this. For all that Yuuri was trapped in Victor’s grasp, he wouldn’t let Phichit get dragged down too. He could backtrack. Calm his friend down. Just… tell Phichit that he was confused, tired, under the weather. Anything to assuage the look in Phichit’s eyes as he reclined into Yuuri’s bed, staring at Yuuri as if he were dying.

Yuuri felt his lips twitch at the analogy. It didn’t feel entirely untrue, after everything-- after his apparent foray into Victor’s-- Alexei’s-- _Victor_ ’s world. Everything had been twisted; doing good would only end badly, alerting the authorities would only start an all-out turf war with the Russian mafia, and somehow taking Victor down would only end in a more volatile replacement. Yuuri rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He lifted his hand. Stared at it.

His knuckles. His tendons. His skin and nails. They looked the same as they always had, especially so against the beige of his ceiling. His home.

He was home, and everything felt so normal and quotedien that it felt like a dream. One day he had been spirited away to Russia, whisked off without his consent, and now he was… Back. No high rise apartments, no rough Russian muttered against his ear, no Alexei holding him close.

Holding him down.

Yuuri bit his lips together. He put his hand down. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said plainly, voice low. “I just-- I was scared. I know that I’ve been through a lot, and I was worried…” What was he worried about? “I was worried about my job, I guess. I could have lost it, especially after last time. I can’t believe I just--”

“Yuuri,” Phichit cut in, taking Yuuri’s hand, “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. Celestino understands. We all understand. Hell, he feels awful for putting you in that position-- it wasn’t appropriate.” Phichit paused, before finishing, “We’re sorry. I’m sorry. That was wrong of us, myself included.”

Yuuri couldn’t look his best friend in the eyes. Phi was so earnest, so _good_. Kind and honest, and-- Yuuri was lying to him. They had shared everything, even back in the academy, and this was such a blasphemous breach of his trust. “It’s okay.” His voice was shaky. Could Phichit tell he was lying? Was it obvious of him? “I-- I’ll be alright, I swear. I’ve just… I’ve got to keep going, that’s all. I’ll be better soon, I swear.” He paused. Considered his thoughts. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll put you on my contacts list, next time-- it all just went so fast.”

Phichit’s grip on Yuuri’s hand tightened. “It’s okay, Yuuri. It’s all okay. I completely understand-- I’ll be there for you next time, if there is a next time.”

If there was a next time. Yuuri inhaled, held his breath until his head spun. A next time.

He exhaled. He would be ready for next time. Alexei-- Victor-- Yuuri couldn’t just let him run amok, pushing all of Japan into chaos. There had to be trade routes Yuuri could take out. Connections he could quash. If he took out the smaller players, circumnavigating the juggernaut that was Victor, he could-- he could--

He needed to plan. He needed to catch up on what he had missed. He needed to come back to the team, get back to work, and… there were so many loose ends to this. So many avenues the mob could take into Japan; so many back doors. They’d have to request extra funding and manpower from the higher ups, that much was sure. They needed to plan, search, find key players--

Oh, god. No one else even knew the scope of this. Sure, the department had statistics, knew the outcomes of Victor’s work, but--

“Yuuri?” Phichit’s voice was soft. His hand tightened around Yuuri’s once more, and all Yuuri could do was turn to look at him and see the concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replied, too quickly. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. Just-- thinking about work, I guess,” he laughed, wincing at how awkward he sounded. Work? Now? When he’d supposedly just returned from a hospital?

“Okay…” Phichit sounded just as skeptical as Yuuri felt. “Maybe you should take some time off. Visit home, relax for awhile--”

“No.” There was far too much to do. He couldn’t sit idly by while Victor tore down the fabric of the society he’d sworn to protect. Yuuri was the one to squeeze Phichit’s hand, this time. He squeezed hard. “No, I think I’m ready to go back.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Kind of! I've been thinking about this fic a lot lately, and I decided that I wasn't quite ready to let it be forgotten. I've been thinking about the plot for ages, and I think I'm finally ready to get this bad boy back on track. I hope this reads okay! I'm trying to get back into the rhythm of Yuuri's character and style, and my goodness, has it been awhile. But that might be for the best, because we're headed off to the next part of the story!
> 
> Thank you everyone for your patience and support through this! I love reading every single comment and kudo that comes my way. <3
> 
> *Naicho and the PSIA seem to be two separate branches of intelligence agencies-- think of a Japanese CIA. The PSIA, after some brief Wikipedia’ing seems to be the more effective of the two, dealing with possible espionage; Naicho, on the other hand, while directly serving the Prime Minister, seems to only really translate foreign publications. Interestingly, Naicho does not have an official website, while the PSIA does(http://www.moj.go.jp/psia/English.html). I’m willing to bet that both deal primarily with internal affairs, but have CIA support, a la the Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security (US-Japan) of 1960, and the later 2015 US-Japan revised defense guidelines(https://www.state.gov/r/pa/ei/bgn/4142.htm) . Therefore, I’m going to assume that these powers, particularly the PSIA, have the ability to deal with international espionage and even possible covert missions.

**Author's Note:**

> *http://www.scattering-ashes.co.uk/general/differences-in-colour-weight-and-consistency-of-cremation-ashes/


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